


Circles

by Sacred_Trickster (The_Divine_Fool)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Awkward Flirting, Dialogue Heavy, Food, High School, Illustrations, Language, M/M, Mischief, Nishinoya Yuu & Tanaka Ryuunosuke are Bros, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Volleyball, Volleyball Dorks in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Divine_Fool/pseuds/Sacred_Trickster
Summary: “Azumane? Hel-lo? What’s the matter, man? Your face just went completely dead. Hey, Sugawara, do you know what’s wrong with him?”“I don’t think you would understand, Noya,” said Suga pleasantly. “It has to do with guilt, and responsibility.”“Oh,” the libero hummed, dropped his eyes, then lifted them again. The grin returned. “You’re right; I don’t want any part of that shit.”
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what happens when i set out to write a "oneshot" and it stretches 60 pages  
> read the tags my friends
> 
> pls enjoy

###### 

It was the first time Asahi felt his love for the game slip.

They were stuck in Aomori with an inclement weather warning. Dinner was dispirited. No one wanted to linger after losing two games in two straight sets each, _bang-bang! bang! bang!_ All in a row like railroad spikes. Then without mercy or humanity the Hirakawa team helped Karasuno’s wingless losers book rooms for the night. _Bang!_ The last spike. Nails in the coffin of a dead reputation. They hadn’t won a game since old Coach Ukai collapsed and went back into retirement after the Fall Tourney -- consecutive wins gave way to consecutive losses. 

Asahi was sixteen and growing his hair out, the freshly-minted starting wing spiker for Karasuno High’s men’s volleyball team, and worse than useless everywhere except the court. 

Useless up to a point, anyway. The other day his mother gave him the keys to their old Kei and told him to trade it in for an electric bike. The guys at the dealer were so afraid of him, he left with two bikes. But Asahi didn’t consider unintentional intimidation a useful life skill. 

Cold continental weather hammered the walls of the village hostel. He knew a thing or two about the cold -- locking the doors didn’t help. Asahi left his room as soon as the third-years returned from the bath, feeling uncontained. The vending machines were out of hot-fries. 

Rounding a corner on the first floor, he caught a current of curses and the swift hissing of insults. A couple of first-years bickered in the hallway, the creepy bald guy and the tiny libero. Names, names, he knocked his head. They were three months into training, he should know this by now -- the libero was the only first-year in the starting line-up. Everyone called him Noya, but Asahi didn’t think that was actually his name. It wasn’t all his fault; Coach Ukai tended to invent crass nicknames for his first-years rather than calling them by their given names. _Baldy_ and _buzz-top_ , regularly, and for Noya, variations on _hot-shot_ and _short-stuff_ , depending on Coach’s mood. It was no wonder they lost over half the kids on the roster in the first month --

“This is your fault, too, you know!”

“How d’you figure _that!"_

“You’re the one who trusted me with the keys in the first place!”

“One thing, man! I only asked you to do one thing!”

They were starting to grapple with each other, so he thought he’d step in. Well, first he thought of stepping quickly _out_ \-- Asahi hated confrontation. But, something made him speak up. These two were the last first-years left on the team. If Karasuno had a future at all, it depended squarely on them.

“Nishi.” Asahi cleared his throat. He scuffed his shoe purposely loud against the laminate. “Um, what are you guys doing?”

Buzz-top whirled around and yelped before Asahi could even finish talking, gaping at him like it was _Nosferatu_ lurking around the corner instead of his upperclassman -- on cue, thunder struck outside. The lights flickered. This was a bad idea.

“Shut up, man, it’s just Azumane. Hey, hold up!” The libero called. “You’re just the guy we need!”

Asahi curled inward under the onslaught of the first-year’s direct stare. “I am?” 

“Yep! This idiot locked us out of our room.”

“Okay… ” He glanced quickly at the other one: “Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He trotted up, took Asahi by the wrist, and grinned at him, bright-eyed and bold. “Will you help us out, ace?”

“I’m not the ace yet.” He tried to look away.

“Sure you are! You know, you’re different than I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah,” the bald guy finally dropped his shoulders and laughed. “You look so wild and scary on the outside, but you’re actually pretty lame! Oh, that came out wrong. What I mean is you’re the complete opposite of Nishinoya!”

If the day’s events had not already left him deflated, the first-year’s words might’ve been a punch in the gut. 

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Noya peered up at him. Bruises on his arms and chin. “Not still bummed about the game today, are you? I thought you played pretty well.”

“Uh, thanks.” Not like it mattered, thought Asahi. “Daichi thought you were great.”

“Oh, yeah? What did _you_ think?”

He hunched again under the scrutiny. Did Noya care what he thought? “I think you’re great, too.” He’d known that about five minutes after he stepped on the court, when Chidoriyama’s best libero dug up one of Asahi’s power spikes during practice, rolled neatly back to his feet, and roared at him for another. Five feet, two inches, and a hair over a hundred pounds of something his mom called _lì-hai_ \-- which meant ‘very highly skilled,’ normally, but spoken in surprise, _lì-hai_ just meant ‘Holy Shit!’

“Stand here,” the first-year pulled him toward the door. “Put your hands out, like this, and give me a boost.”

“A boost?”

“Yeah! Haven’t you ever helped a homie hop a high wall?”

“Nishinoya, that sounds, illegal -- ”

“Tanaka isn’t tall enough but I’m sure I can reach the ceiling tiles with your height. One step to the summit, that’s why they call you the ace! Ha- _ha!”_

The first-years slapped hands, and before Asahi could ask what the heck they were talking about, the short one sort of lunged at him. One socked foot planted in the cradle of his palms and he endured a split-second of nuts in his face before he got the idea to lift his teammate upward with the hands locked under his foot. Nishinoya pushed one of the ceiling tiles aside, and as Asahi watched, dumbfounded, the tiny libero caught hold of something in the darkness, and started to pull himself into the freaking ceiling.

Tanaka cackled encouragement from the sidelines. Just as Asahi was bracing Nishinoya’s ankles to keep him from falling the hell _out_ , he happened to glance over his shoulder. 

“S-Suga!”

Sugawara lowered his phone. “Asahi, despite your looks, I never took you for a trouble-maker.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” His feet disappear into the overhead darkness. Asahi looked uncertainly after him. “Or, maybe it is. I’m just as lost as you are, man.”

“It looks like you’re putting our libero in the ceiling.”

“No! I was just, helping him in there -- ”

“That’s just what a thug would say.”

A heavy _clunk_ sounded from behind the door, followed by a lighter thump. The lock turned from the inside. “The good news is -- ” Nishinoya reappeared, brushing dust off his shoulders, bruised, victorious. “I found our keys. Broke one of the ceiling tiles on the way down, though.”

Tanaka thumped him on the back, grinning ear to ear. “Noya, smaller than average fifteen-year-old, bigger than average bad-ass! Hey, I think Sugawara got a picture!”

“Huh? He did? That’s awesome!”

No, no it’s not, thought Asahi -- it was borderline blackmail. What if it got out that he was involved and they were billed for destruction of property? He could get suspended from the team! Asahi’s shoulders sagged. Maybe that was a good thing. Volleyball only bummed him out, nowadays. His mother told him he should pursue ‘other options’ after high school, which meant ‘ _not college,’_ so there wasn’t any point in continuing to try, really. He should just drop out now and sell dope from his electric bicycle. No one would expect anything more from him.

“Azumane? Hel-lo? What’s the matter, man? Your face just went completely dead. Hey, Sugawara, do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t think you would understand, Noya,” said Suga pleasantly. “It has to do with guilt, and responsibility.”

“Oh,” the libero hummed, dropped his eyes, then lifted them again. The grin returned. “You’re right; I don’t want any part of that shit.”

Asahi stared up at a gaping hole in the hostel foundation. Another roll of thunder, and the lights flickered. “The, ceiling -- ”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll go back up there and replace it with a tile from an empty room, and no one will ever know. You really did us a solid, dude. How can we repay you? Ya like hot-fries?”

Asahi bobbed back to the surface. He wasn’t quiet so much as generally distant. “Hot-fries?”

“Yep! We emptied the vending machine earlier.” Nishinoya’s eyes are sharp and proud. “I know a trick for getting them all with the same coin. It’s the least Hirakawa can do for trapping us here in the rain.”

Even Suga laughed behind his hand. A small thought sailed Asahi’s stream of consciousness, in and out of focus like a distant lure, imminent, just beyond reach. _Shorty kinda cute._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> must love asahi


	2. Chapter 2

They lost a practice match over the weekend with Kurihara First, 25-14, and the opposing team was swapping in first-years and throwing gratuitous setter dumps by the end of it. Asahi broke through a triple-block with a spike that knocked the libero flat and smoked the guy behind him with just the backdraft -- it was one point, but it felt like ten. It felt _good_.

His career counselor misspelled his name, missed the bin, and tossed Asahi’s crumpled aspirations right out the window. _Nice kill_ , he thought.

Outside the rec buildings he skipped the last flight of steps and landed heavily on the concrete, accidentally scattering a cluster of first-year students lingering outside the tennis courts. The soles of his shoes were wearing out. Almost the end of the year, then. Asahi drifted toward the volleyball gym, feeling lost at sea. The earth was round and it rolled and rolled and rolled. 

Daichi and the other second-years were already setting up. The first-years arrived at the last minute, going on loudly about the girls’ uniforms, and dates with Kiyoko neither of them would get. Nishinoya looked freshly slapped. Asahi started practice kind of angry, and finished it off pissed. For no reason, really, except that he still existed, and nothing mattered. 

The third-years left cleaning to the younger players, and Asahi brushed off an invitation from Suga and Daichi to grab food with them. His heart shook in his chest like it was cold or sick. 

“Want to hit a few more?”

He practiced his jump-serves. About a hundred of them, until everyone else got bored and left. First he hit them for the rush, then he started to aim; he tried to hit Nishinoya, really blow him away, like that other libero -- didn’t know if it was out of hate or fascination but Asahi wanted to see something broken down. 

Finally Noya missed one, in a bad way, one arm snapping around. A good surface burn, surely, maybe even a new bruise.

“Nice! Your serves are getting a lot better.”

“Nishi,” Asahi drifted to center-court. He pushed his fingers through the net and leaned his weight into it. “I think you’re just getting tired.”

A single bark of laughter scattered into echoes across the gymnasium, and Noya jogged up. He jogged _up_ , right to the net, until Asahi could see the ghost-lines in his flat cola eyes. “Feel better?”

Exhaustion hit him like a bullet train, and his legs started to sort of melt. “Yeah. Thanks for sticking around.”

“No problem. I like playing with you, man.”

Asahi felt guilty, then, because he’d basically been beating on the kid all night. “Even if we get stuffed in every game?”

“Yeah, I know we’ve had a few downers lately. But I promise you, there are more windows than walls on the court. As long as you keep spiking, I’ll keep digging ‘em up.”

 _More windows than walls_ , he never thought of it that way. It wasn’t fair: Asahi was the upperclassman; he was the one who should be lifting Nishinoya’s spirits. But they were teammates for half a year, now, and Noya had proven to be the backbone not only of Karasuno’s defense but of the team itself. Suddenly there was a voice on the backline like a tailwind, telling them they could do it, they could fly, they could actually _win_ , one of these days. It was up to each one of them in turn to believe those words, but it was also Asahi’s nature to resist the hardest --

“Asahi!”

“Hn?”

“Keep up, man. I asked if you wanted to get something to eat. After we clean up, are you down?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Well, I already said no to Daichi. It would look bad.”

“Then it’ll be a secret. We’ll keep it discreet -- just sneak into the corner store, grab some of those tiny sausages wrapped in pancakes, and kick rocks, end of story. What do you think? You down?”

“Nishinoya, I’ve never seen you do anything discreet.”

“Don’t fight me on this,” he sank his fingers into the net underneath Asahi’s. “I won’t break.”

That much was true. He’d go ten more sets if that’s what it took. Even if Asahi cut and ran, the libero would overtake him. And tear him apart, probably. Cat-eyed little first-year, covered in feathers and blood. Everyone would be expecting it. 

“If it’s the shop across from Sakanoshita, I can’t go in. The owner hits the panic button as soon as he sees me.”

Noya laughed. Bracing at first, eventually you got used to his soft, sort of nasal rasp. “Don’t wimp out because of that!”

“I’m not wimping out, I’m just, waiting outside. If the police walk me home again, my mom will chase me with a bat.”

Asahi didn’t have any regular social routines, so he didn’t have regular friends. His classmates were nice and they got along fine, but volleyball's morning and evening practices, games, and summer training hardly left time for ‘hanging out’ off the court. Asahi told himself he was a loner by design. Then, without warning, the routine of non-routine gave way, little by little, until once a week, usually after his career meetings, Asahi stayed late after practice. He burned off his anger like a sticky residue, hit the corner store with Nishinoya, and took the slow way home. 

The third or fourth time this happened, they had another practice match with a small school from Kurokawa district coming up that weekend. With still a few months to go before the Spring Inter-High Tourney kicked off, and only clouds on the horizon, everyone seemed committed to a dignified failure, whether they admitted it or not. 

Asahi pretended to consider the cigarette machine’s glowing display, shifting his collar higher up his neck. A squall fell down off the Ōu Mountains earlier that day, and a chill wind raced over the rice fields. The faint violet glow of a different vending machine caught his eye, from an alcove tucked off to the side, so no one could see what you were buying. 

It was late, but the corner store took customers until ten. A man with sun-shriveled features and three good teeth addressed him. “Oy. Yer shoes stuck?” 

“Uh -- ” 

“ _Buy_ something, or quit lurkin’.” There were plastic bags on his feet. “I’ll tell the owner. What’re ya, casin’ the joint?”

“I’m not!”

“We don’t like trouble, around here -- ”

The bell over the door rang, and the mouth of the shop yawned wide. “Asahi! I got you a Nutty Buddy -- oh, sorry, old-timer.” Noya held the door open. “Hey, I like your bags.”

His hobbling scrutiny shifted to the libero, who was actually taller than him. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, sonny?”

Nishinoya grinned roguishly. “Same to you, buddy. Give those bunions a break.” The shriveled man shuffled inside, head on the swivel.

They put the corner store behind them, and the darkness ahead. “Don’t you love this town?” Noya tucked his hands behind his neck. “It’s a little bit of everything.”

“I guess.”

“What’s up? Tell me you didn’t let _that_ dude judge you.”

“Nah,” lied Asahi. “Man, how do you eat those?”

“Hey, try one before you knock it!”

“Dried papaya? Gross.”

“You’d like the chili and lime flavor if you just gave it a shot. But you must have dinner waiting, huh?”

“What? No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.” Asahi, far away. 

“So, then,” Noya hummed. “What’re you going to do?”

“Ride to the next town over, buy a fifth of sake, and get drunk in my shed, probably.”

The first-year loosed another single, exhilarated laugh. “Damn! You still surprise me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know -- it seems like, you hate doing bad stuff.”

Asahi shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that bad. Me drunk in my shed isn’t dangerous or cool.”

It was a minute or two before the libero replied. “Want some company?”

“Huh? Uh, I can’t buy alcohol for you, Nishinoya -- ”

“I meant later!” He punched him, not lightly but about as good-natured as a punch from Noya got. “I’m not interested in the booze, just the hanging out part. I need to go home and change, first.”

Asahi hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s, gonna be late.”

“Yep! I’m wired, anyway.” He shrugged something from his pocket. “D’you mind? We’ve been teammates for a whole term and I don’t even have your number.”

“Oh, uh,” Asahi tried to play it off. “Sure.” It took him longer than six months to get Daichi’s number. He _still_ didn’t have some of the third-years’ contacts, and he’d been playing with them for nearly two years -- 

“Um, Nishinoya,” he handed his phone back. “We got some more people back on the roster, now that Coach Ukai is gone. More first-years, I think. Anyway, Daichi is the sure pick for team captain next season.”

Noya adjusted the strap of his bag across his chest, and planted his hands on his hips. “Okay, so?”

“I just mean, the way things are going -- I’m not any sort of big deal, you know?”

His gaze goes from zero to incensed. “Are you accusing me of kissing _ass?”_

“No, of course not!” Asahi put his hands up. Awkwardly: “I’m sure there’s a better way of putting it -- ”

“Dude!” He cut him off with a wave of his hand like a chop to the larynx. Asahi’s throat constricted. “Did you ever think I just want to be your friend?”

For some reason, he kept it all a secret. Or, rather, Asahi never brought up hanging out with the team’s new libero off the court, and so no one knew.

###### 

Noya stamped his feet on the brick threshold, and closed the shabby wood door behind him. “It’s so cold on your side of the hill!” 

“I thought you would’ve learned that after last time.”

There was only one chair, but Noya fell to the floor against some rolled-up rugs that suited him fine. “You got the space-heater running already, I see,” he joked. Asahi’s ‘space-heater’ was an old-fashioned oil lamp with a rope wick, the kind you use when the power’s out. 

Nishinoya held his hands out to the flickering light. “Your electric bills must be crazy out here.”

“We don’t run the heat that much -- there’s a kotatsu in the house. When I get cold my mom tells me to put a sweater on. Anyway, it’s not electric.” He nodded to the back of the shed. “What did you think all that wood was for?”

“I thought you were planning an addition to your Hut of Solitude, or something.”

Asahi lowered his drink. “That’s still in the design phase.”

“Well, let me know when you’re ready, I’ll be happy to help out.”

“A Hut of Solitude must be built alone, Nishinoya.”

He chuckled finally. “You are so weird.”

“Too far? Sorry.”

“No, that was a compliment.” Noya sat up, and leaned into the light. He played with the dial on the lamp’s wick. The flame blazes, and dies, and blazes again. 

“You dyed your hair.”

Nishinoya pulled on the blond in his bangs. “You just noticed?”

Asahi shrugged, almost comically. “I played _hun_ dreds of hours of volleyball with Sugawara before I realized he had a mole on his face.”

“So, I guess I should take that as a compliment.”

“I’m doing my best, Nishi.”

“No, it’s great,” he tried not to laugh. “You should take that charm for a spin, man, you might bag one of Karasuno’s exceptional ladies to take to the spring formal.”

Asahi lifted his drink again. “That’s not really my scene.”

“What d’you mean?”

One of his knees bounced. “Look, I don’t just get nervous before games. It’s pretty much everything else, too. I have too much anxiety to attend big social gatherings, or anything with a lot of random variables. If I didn’t love volleyball, I’d never pull it together long enough to get on the court.”

“But you _do_ pull it together,” said Noya. “And you score the most! What makes a date any different?”

“I’m, not interested in scoring like that, I guess.”

“That’s a lame excuse! You need to act more like you do on the court, Asahi.” Noya pumped his fist. “Aim straight for what you want, with everything you got!” 

His upperclassman cringed. “I’m not like that.” Then: “Nishinoya, did you really come to Karasuno for the girls’ uniforms?”

“ _And_ the boys’.” He declared. “Pretty sure I said that already.”

Asahi shifted. He hadn’t retied his hair after practice, just changed his clothes and threw on the team jacket to ward off the cold. It all suited him, kind of -- the rushed, hushed-away feeling, even the smells of aging ash and kerosene.

The truth was, Nishinoya had simple tastes. He liked eye candy.

“Is it boring,” said the second-year, a lick of humor in his voice. “Watching me cope?”

The opposite, Noya wanted to say, but he crossed his arms over his knees, and said nothing, instead. Asahi was nice to look at but he seemed too polite and soft-spoken in person to be genuine -- not without a thorough investigation, anyway. Noya wanted to pick him apart.


	3. Chapter 3

The Spring Inter-High Tourney was held in Sendai that year. Karasuno made it through the preliminaries, and lost in the third round. Noya was a hero for a whole minute after receiving an impossible cross-court spike with his left foot, but he missed a couple of blocked-ball rebounds later in the game that left him feeling frustrated and competitive. 

The gymnasium was a thirty-minute train ride from the waterfront and sunny Matsushima. With some of the club’s tournament budget left unspent, they decided without a vote or really any talking at all to drive the bus out to shore and stay the night where the weather was mild. The third-years took everything in stride, but the mood amongst the second-years was despondent -- Daichi urged them again to shake it off; Suga stared out the window; Asahi fell into clipped silences. Nishinoya and Tanaka snoozed on each other in the back row. 

The fallen champions found themselves on a stretch of shoreline looking out to several small pine-covered islands, and the somber mood lifted some -- shortly, they found food, and after a long respite in the sunshine, the team decompressed with some impromptu rounds of three-on-three. Volleyball on the beach was way more chaotic than playing on a court; it was almost impossible to keep your feet planted in the shifting sand, Noya found, and the ball had a coating on it like rough-cut diamonds. A mean breeze blew one of Ennoshita’s serves right back in his face. Tanaka stepped on an oyster shell and crashed into Daichi --

The sun fell halfway under the waves. The game wore down to a less eventful two-on-two, then even Tanaka called it a night and retreated to the fire pit. 

Smoke cast a milky haze over the evening. Noya could barely see the net anymore. He heard the sound of a jump-serve, and leapt to retrieve it on instinct -- couldn’t curb the momentum in time and sent it sailing back to the other side, a chance ball; the last attacker slammed it down. Noya made a dive, but it was too late. He looked up from the shower of sand, breathing hard, his eyes adjusting minute by minute to the thickening gloom. Asahi pushed his fingers through the holes in the windworn net and leaned his weight into it. 

“I figured it had to be you,” the libero grinned. “Want to hit a few more?”

“Aren’t you tired?” 

“Nope!” Noya jumped to his feet, slipped, but stayed upright. He could go ten more rounds. Nishinoya tracked fast-moving objects with predatory obsession -- he never slowed down, never tired, and he never quit on a target as long as it was on his side of the field. 

“It’s too dark, Nishi. I’m afraid I’m going to knock you out.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from trying before!” He laughed, and plucked the ball from the sand, moving to stand opposite his teammate. “What’s the matter?”

“Um,” Asahi looked down, but not at him. “What did you think of the match today?”

Noya balanced the ball against his hip with one hand. “Well, honestly, it was kind of frustrating. I saw a lot of places where my game could improve. Ohga East has a strong defensive line -- everyone was counting on me, and I let them down.”

“I know how that feels.”

“Yeah? You did everything you could though, dude. We just couldn’t keep the ball in play.”

Asahi didn’t respond, but Nishinoya waited around for him, anyway, sharing the space at center-court until it felt like the light was getting worse with every breath. 

“Do you ever want to quit?”

“Never!” spat Noya. 

“What makes you keep going?”

“It’s the only way to move forward, obviously. Giving up won’t change anything.”

A soft snort. “Now I get why Daichi has all those nicknames for you.”

“Huh? What do you -- hey!” The ace reached one hand under the net and punched the ball out of the libero’s hold. Before he could chase after it, the same hand caught the front of his jersey, and Noya felt it come loose from his shorts. “Asahi?” Glad for the darkness, suddenly, because he was heating up, mostly in surprise -- his upperclassman never made moves like this off the court.

But, the hand loosened, his shirt fell, and Asahi stepped away. “It’s too dark.” 

Nishinoya had questions, but he kept them to himself. He was learning to simply follow after Karasuno’s quiet wing spiker when he started to drift off somewhere. 

Most everyone had gone off to bed. Losing didn’t leave a lot of energy for late-night carousing. They used the outdoor shower to blast the worst of the sand off their feet. Asahi paused in front of the vending machines. 

“I got this!” Noya interfered. “What do you want? Wait, I know exactly what you want.”

“Hang on, I don’t want to get in trouble -- ”

“With who?” He pushed the button for hot-fries, held down the coin return, and gave the machine an experienced _tap-tap_ at the same time. The snacks fell, Noya’s money rolled back down the chute into his waiting palm. “Have you seen the guys who run this place? They're playing _Wii_ in the lobby, right now.”

“There’s a camera pointed right at the machine. What if someone’s watching? They’ll think I forced you into something -- ”

“I don’t think so.” He identified the security cam in the upper corner and flashed a grin and a V-sign at the dusty lens. “Welcome to the Nishinoya Yū Show.”

Asahi covered his eyes and groaned. “You’re a bad influence.”

That made him laugh. “Am I?” Noya tossed the snackfood to his teammate, and broke into his hi-chews while they made the climb to the main hostel building. The stones were still warm underfoot. 

“Now that I think of it,” he hummed. “Your spikes were a bit weak today, man.”

“What!” Asahi, cornered. 

“Yep. There wasn’t as much _woosh!_ and _pow!_ as usual.”

“Woosh and pow. I need to work on that.”

“We have a couple more games coming up this March,” Noya continued. “Public Prefecturals.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know it sucks to lose all the time. But... you wouldn’t quit on me, would you?”

His step faltered, and Karasuno’s ace looked back, wearing the fakest smile in Japan. “Honestly? Not even if I wanted to.”

###### 

The night before Prefecturals, Asahi stayed late at the gym. Date Tech was on the menu, and that was plenty -- but together with Friday career counseling, he was carrying around enough pre-game stress to crack concrete. 

Tanaka lingered, this time, and set him up for some spikes while Noya retrieved, and retrieved, and retrieved. They switched to serves when Tanaka got bored, and Asahi fired them off until his vision blurred and he had to sort of shout to get his arm to move. 

He stopped fifteen minutes after it probably wasn’t safe to go on, and shuffled to center-court to push his fingers through the net. “You okay?”

“Hn,” a grunt. Noya hadn’t peeled himself off the floor yet. “Tired.”

Asahi smiled, worn down in every possible way. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you admit it.”

The libero sat up, rocked to his feet, and wobbled there. “Tanaka dip?”

“Only an hour ago. He said you’re crazy, it’s never going to happen, and you owe him a yakisoba bun.”

Nishinoya trailed to center-court. Slower, today, not so direct. “But I haven’t lost yet.”

“What is it, a bet?” Asahi scrubbed sweat from his brow with one arm. “Something even Ta _naka_ thinks is crazy... Damn. Maybe you shouldn’t do it.”

“But look how far I’ve got,” he countered. “Ignoring people who tell me not to try.”

“There’s a limit, though.” Asahi looked down, feeling unsuited for his skin, suddenly. “For everybody. Isn’t there?”

Nishinoya’s face shifted to scary mode. The ace froze like _Han Solo_ in carbonite. “That’s what I hate about you, Azumane. The fact that you be _lieve_ that.”

He didn’t even believe it. Well, he didn’t want to. Did Noya hate him? Asahi wondered. He should. They were complete opposites.

When all the balls stopped rolling, you could hear a pin drop in the Karasuno gymnasium. Silence made the stress worse. Asahi had a bad case of the post-practice rickets: everywhere fucking hurt. Hair tangled, half-slept and musty, he knew he probably wasn’t killing it. On the other hand, fatigue drew a pretty intensity out of the libero; sweat darkened his hairline, blood warmed his cheeks, and even tired as hell, the same ferocity lit in his eyes -- a refusal to lose at all costs. 

He felt a tug on the front of his jersey, and Asahi ducked his head. Noya stretched to his toes. They met with the net in the middle like the goofiest sporty romance. 

In the end it was just a peck. Might’ve been longer, but Nishinoya broke it off to pump his fist and jump around like he just took match-point, or something. _“Yes!”_

Asahi watched the first-year celebrate, head spinning in surprise, confusion, but mostly, an overwhelming swell of affection, and appreciation; it felt like a long time since they’d had a victory on the court. Like rain after a long dry period, he broke, and smiled for real. “I’m still here.”

Noya spun on his heel. He flexed his arms to his ears, grinning wildly. “Yakisoba bun, here I come!”

Asahi sighed, not sure if he should be offended. “Cute,” he decided.

“Oh, hey -- ” Nishinoya jogged back to the net. “I’ll swear off yakisoba buns forever if we can do that again.”

“Sure. Uh, I mean, you don’t have to do that.” Asahi fumbled for words. “Maybe, without the net, this time?” 

“Smooth talker.” 

“I’m working on it.”

Noya ducked under the net. Asahi leaned back down to his teammate’s level. 

“Oh, hey guys -- ” A new voice. “What are you still doing here?”

In an instant they’re fifteen feet apart, breathing normal, and not any more flushed than two dedicated athletes should be on a two-man court. 

“D-Daichi!” In the rush, all Asahi can think is he’s glad it’s not Sugawara with his damn phone, again. 

“I forgot my copy of tomorrow’s bracket,” said Daichi, striding to the bench and plucking up a sheaf of papers. “You two should clean up and head home. At this point, you both need rest more than extra practice. Especially you, Asahi.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Relax,” he chuckled. “I’m not captain yet. Tomorrow will be our last game before the third-years move on -- and if you ask me, both you and Suga stand a good chance of making team captain, as well.”

Asahi couldn’t help it, the stiffness left him and he laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah, really, Daichi.” Noya flapped a hand. “This guy can’t get his own act together, and you expect him to lead practice?”

Daichi laughed. “That’s cold, Nishinoya.” He folded the bracket and tucked it in his pocket, then scanned the gym floor. “Want some help cleaning up?”

“No, that’s alright. We’ve got energy to burn!” A sharp elbow in his side. “Right, Asahi?”

“Uh,” Asahi wilted. “Ow.”

“Well, if you say so.” Daichi padded back to the doors, and lifted one hand on his way out. “See you tomorrow.”

As soon as the doors shut, Noya dropped his hands on his knees. He exhaled loudly. “I was sure he’d be pissed.”

“Nice fake.”

“What d’you mean?” said the libero, too loud. “I’ve got tons of energy!” And he marched to the net to start taking it down. 

They still had to shag all the balls, sweep up, lock up, kill the lights. For some reason twenty minutes of cleaning felt longer than three whole sets -- Asahi told himself not to think about his life in volleyball terms, or his track record would look the same as Karasuno’s current losing streak. It wasn’t a game and he didn’t want to score, but... did ‘do that again’ mean again _and_ again?

“Asahi! Hello?” Had they finished cleaning already? When did Nishinoya put on his jacket?

“I’m here,” he shook himself. “I’m here.” 

Noya hauled the gymnasium’s heavy steel doors shut, and hauled on them one extra time to put the locks in their places. “Are you coping after this?”

“What? Oh, yes.” He admitted. He couldn’t help it. The shed was calling. He rarely slept before game days.

A motion-sensor fog light lit the area around the gym, but the further they moved from campus, the less artificial light guided their way. Night in the countryside stretched shoulder to shoulder across the landscape like black velvet. Nishinoya was pale and striking under its mantle -- and when he didn’t say anything else, it was all Asahi could think about.

“Um, Nishi,” he cleared his throat. Usually Noya was the one who invited himself along. Suddenly Asahi had to do the legwork: “Do you want to, uh, come through?”

“Sure.”

Just like that, he chose the most irresponsible route. What was the point of protecting a reputation he didn’t have? Asahi had been hanging out with the libero for almost a whole school year, now -- maybe it was starting to rub off on him. Drinking with his underclassman. Despicable. The night before a game, too! So reckless. 

At home, Asahi finally washed up. The weather was turning on his side of the mountain, and it wasn’t so daunting taking your clothes off. He ate everything in the kitchen, save for a couple of prepared lunches in the fridge. His mom had left a note -- he’d look at it later. 

It felt good to fall into routine. The wood shed, his chair, the lamp, his booze. Asahi meditated on the minute-breaths of his body’s internal clock, superimposed on time and space. Consciousness was so random, life so absurd, you might as well stick around for the laughs. 

Nishinoya stamped on the threshold. A wolf at the door.

“Fast,” he commented, already a puddle of tired bones. 

“Okay, I only washed my face. And put on my thick socks.”

“It’s not that cold anymore.”

“It is when you’re coming from the bay side!” Noya fell to his usual spot on the rug collection, and shoved his hands in his armpits. “Seriously, I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“Imagine what it’s like bathing out here.”

“When the frost hits?” He rasped. “Fuck that! I think my dick would shrink!”

Asahi choked a laugh. “ _Dude.”_

“What? I couldn’t think of a better way to put it.”

“No, it’s just, your voice,” he covered his eyes with one hand. “I could wake up to it.”

Nishinoya blinked. “Yeah?” He sat up. “Same to you. Hey, how about that second kiss?”

Asahi started to blush so bad he thought he was going to pass out just from the mention of it. “Wait. First tell me what the bet was about -- does Tanaka think I’m straight? Or not into you?”

“Neither. He thinks we won’t last two months.”

“Two _months_ , for a yakisoba bun?” Asahi was dumbfounded. “Nishinoya, I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.”

“You gotta start somewhere.” Noya picked at a hangnail. “I don’t know if ‘proper’ is the right word, anyway.”

That was it, Asahi was going to pass out. Maybe it was the fatigue, or not eating enough, or the half a drink he’d managed to swallow -- this tiny libero was going to be the end of him. 

“You want to go out,” he pulled the pieces together. “With me?”

“Uhm, yes,” chuckled Noya. “I thought I was pretty straightforward.”

“You spent the whole year circling Kiyoko!”

“And probably next year,” he sighed. “Because Kiyoko is a miracle and a blessing to mankind. And if I thought aggressive weirdos were going to pressure you for your number -- I’d circle you, too.”

“ _I’m_ a miracle and a blessing?”

Nishinoya bared his teeth. “How much longer do I have to wait?”

Asahi’s hands twitched. “Um.” He pushed some rogue hair behind his ear. “You don’t.”

His teammate started to climb to his feet. He reminded himself to breathe. 

The second time was less rushed. Noya had the height advantage and pressed it. Asahi put his palms on his neck and worked the pads of his thumbs over his sharp sideburns -- the first thing he’d wanted to do since he met him, really. Asahi was tired and pliable; sake put him in slow motion. The kiss is warm and accompanied by a pleasant tingling; Nishinoya’s rhythm is take, and take, and take. Finally they broke for air. 

“I’ve been thinking about how to finesse this height difference.” The libero headbutted him, kind of rough. “And it doesn’t leave me a lot of options.”

Asahi considered the unstated question, then reached out and curled one hand around the back of his knee. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Noya, and the knee bent, sliding forward over Asahi’s hip. “Y’okay?”

“Yes. I, uh,” Asahi, dry-mouthed, receding. “I’m, trying not to put my hands anywhere indecent.”

“It’s okay, my balls are totally resting against your leg -- ”

The ace broke into nervous giggling. Noya smiled back. “And I can still make you laugh,” he continued. “So don’t worry about it. You’re the most decent person I know, Asahi. I mean it. You seemed kind of standoffish at first, but after Aomori I realized you were just shy -- if you touch my ass, I’ll pretend it’s a gust of wind until you’re ready to talk about it.”

Asahi settled his hands, trying to adjust to the reality of Nishinoya in his lap. This was fine, he supposed. Noya was fine. Noya was _fine_. When his teammate leaned in again, at a better height for them both, Asahi met him in the middle, mouth part-way open for the barest scrape of teeth and tongue. It was almost exactly his dream kiss with the bad-ass libero -- until Noya reached out, and brushed his fingertips across the front of his throat. He nearly jumped ten feet. 

“Oh, you weren’t lying. You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”

Asahi leaned forward to shutter the lamp, and Noya slid off his leg. “Is that okay? I’ll shove home, if -- ”

“It’s fine. My mom’s out. If I sent you home this late and you got kidnapped, or something, it would probably ruin my life.”

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Noya chuckled. “Right behind you, man.”

Asahi went in through the greenhouse. They left their shoes on the gravel side. It was always weird seeing a house at night -- like its eyes were shut. He circled the den along a shaded corridor and traced an L through the kitchen. A couple of sliding doors to the stairs. 

Asahi flicked his hand at a closed door as they passed. “My brother,” he offered. “You won’t see him. His anxiety’s worse than mine. Believe it or not, mine’s getting better.” 

At the very top of the stairs, he paused. “I’m going to pass out in five minutes, drool, and snore.”

“The Glamorous Life of Asahi.”

“Full disclosure,” he shrugged, and slid open his bedroom door. “The ratings probably aren’t as high as the Nishinoya Show.”

“Oh, cool ceiling. Is that a hole in the floor?”

“Um, yeah,” Asahi kicked around a few things that he’d rather remained unseen, and rushed to throw an old Pikachu plush off his bed. “It’s the chimney to the wood stove -- we’re right over the kitchen.”

“I can fucking see that.” Nishinoya, tongue in cheek. He stood in the center of the floor, peering down at the rough-shod hole in the wood where the chimney climbed into Asahi’s attic room and carried on up through the slanted ceiling. “Bet you always know what’s cooking, up here.”

“At least it stays warm.” Asahi shed his jacket, and pushed one hand under his shirt. All those jump-serves were suddenly hitting him hard, his core was burning. “The bathroom’s all the way at the bottom of the stairs. It sucks. You want the window or the door side?”

Nishinoya turned away from the hole. “Huh?” 

Asahi considered his bed. “It’s not weird, sharing, is it? I didn’t even ask.”

“Pretty sure we slept in closer quarters at training camp, and nobody got a hard-on.”

“In a room with twenty other stinking snoring guys doesn’t really count.”

“I guess that’s fair. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask -- ” Noya’s team jacket hit the floor, and his sweater, and a shirt, and another shirt. Then he kneeled on the bed, rolled over to the window side and stretched, long and loud. “What’s that thing in your shed? It’s always on the window sill. Looks like a pricey lamp with no shade and too many sockets.”

“Um, nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I’ll show you next time.”

Asahi followed, with less commotion. He pulled the elastic from his hair, double-checked his alarm, and switched off the last light. Nishinoya in his bed, fine. Nishinoya in his bed looking delicious in a black tank, not fine.

He barely had time to think about it -- a minute after kicking under the blankets, Asahi rolled onto his stomach and lost consciousness. Even his aches and pains seemed to hop a train and nod off for a little bit.

###### 

Too soon, he was being shaken. “Game day, game day.” Nishinoya’s game day wake-up call, of course. 

Asahi groaned. “Get outa my face.” He had thirteen other guys to wake up -- why couldn’t Noya leave him for last?

His arm moved of its own accord, so he clamped down on it, determined to cling to the last filings of warm sleepiness until he absolutely had to swat them aside. 

“Asahi,” a grumble. “You need to let _go.”_

“W’time is it.”

“It’s seven -- ”

“The hell!” He squinted. “The bus doesn’t get to campus till _ten_.”

“O _kay-y_ , but Mama Nishinoya gets to my room at eight o’clock, and if I’m not there, she’ll know I didn’t come home last night.”

Asahi gradually caught up with his surroundings. He was in his own bed, not some awful impermanent team dormitory -- the libero was glaring at him, and, yes, trapped under his arm, as well. “So it wasn’t a dream.”

Noya relaxed back onto his elbows. “That depends,” he turned his hips, sly. “What did you dream about?”

Asahi huffed, and turned away, closing his eyes. It was too early for blushing. “You suck.”

“You gave me corny, I had to make it saucy. I really _do_ have to go, though -- ”

“Go back to sleep. Takes five minutes to get to the bay side.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“I’ll drive you,” Asahi pleaded, muffled. “Go back to sleep and I’ll drive you.”

“Okay... but only because you’re an asshole in the morning and I kind of like it. Take your arm off me, though. Twenty minutes?”

“Twe’ min’s.” 

But after barely a minute, Asahi had to look -- just one eye at first, then both. His teammate sat against the pillows and checked his phone, bed-ruffled in the best ways, hair at odd angles, bare shoulders in the naked dawn. Asahi wondered how long he got away with keeping him under his arm. Probably nobody could ever truly trap Nishinoya. 

“You’re not sleeping,” the libero hummed. He dropped one hand, and cool fingers circled Asahi’s ear, combed back his baby hairs. He allowed his eyes to close. It was nice -- a little waterfall of sensation, where you don’t expect it. He’d never look at Noya’s hands the same. 

Twenty minutes. Asahi remembered suddenly. Twenty minutes and this was all a distant memory. A weird yearning punched him in the gut. He flipped onto his back. “Nishi -- ”

And maybe he’d been thinking the same thing, because Nishinoya silenced him, soundly. He even rolled over him. Asahi spread his elbows to take the weight, caught his lip in his teeth, cocked his head and kissed back. A cold fist curled under his jaw, but Noya’s stomach was hot where it flattened against his ribs -- Asahi gave in; he tightened one arm around the small of his back, and pretended there was no such thing as time and responsibility, set- or match-point. 

Of course, that wasn’t true. Before even the initial rush was over Nishinoya’s alarm went off like nine gunshots and a heavy trap beat -- 

Noya went for his pocket, but Asahi got there first, and clamped his hand over his leg. 

“Dude -- ”

“No.” He pressed his mouth to the exposed side of his neck. Noya’s skin, like layers of little diamonds.

“Asahi,” the libero sighed. “I can’t really explain a bruise there.”

But his touch on the ace’s wrist was curious, encouraging. Asahi left the mark premature but stayed close. By about half past seven, the sun officially rose. There was simply no hiding from it.

“My mom’s wrath is no joke.” Noya threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Asahi’s neck and pulled lightly, like that would make him stop. 

“Mine neither.”

“Hey,” he chortled. “Did you just threaten my mom?”

“No, I meant -- you know.”

“Oh, that’s right, _your_ mom chases you with a bat.”

“I told you about that?” Asahi drew back and covered his eyes with one hand. So embarrassing.

“Yep. Pretty much immediately after we started to hang out.” Noya grinned. “Don’t worry, dude. I have four brothers; I’ve seen it all.”

For two and a half seconds he imagined five Nishinoyas under one roof. “Holy shit. Your mom’s got the juice. Let’s get you home.”

Noya shrugged on his seven shirts. Asahi said goodbye to the best view of his life, grabbed his jacket, his keys, and tied up his hair on the way out the door. Halfway down the stairs, he heard something _clang_ distantly, paused on the first landing, and swore.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Asahi, groaning inwardly. What was his brother doing up at this hour? Of all the days for him to have an unusual schedule, why did it have to be today? Asahi flicked through the sliding doors and rounded the corner into the kitchen, cracking open a can of instant irritation. “‘Enzo, what the fuck? It’s seven thirty.”

His brother spread his hands, brandishing a long cutting knife. “The fuck’s with you? I’m hungry.”

He sighed noisily. “Whatever. This is Nishinoya, our libero.”

Enzo glanced over his shoulder, then _down_. He chuckled. “Yeah, he looks like a libero.”

Noya bristled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Asahi pulled him along. Quietly: “Let’s go, let’s go.”

“Hey, Nishinoya,” Enzo, eyebrows working darkly. “My brother is a piece of shit.”

“He already knows that, thank you -- ” With some difficulty, Asahi shoved his teammate in front of him and cleared the door, into the hall, and down to the greenhouse. 

“What’s his problem!”

“ _Sh,”_ Asahi hushed him. “I already told you, didn’t I?”

Nishinoya stood his hands on his hips, nostrils flared, and stared back down the hallway like he could make bacon burn from fifty feet away. He wasn’t going to put his shoes on, so Asahi coaxed them on, and tied them, too. “He’s like you with no hair and big eyebrows,” said Noya. “What’s his name?”

“Kenzo. But he doesn’t like the ‘K’.”

“Why not?”

“He thinks it’s feminine.”

“What’s feminine about _K.”_

“I really couldn’t tell you.”

Outside, Noya stuffed his hands in his pockets. “No wonder ya don’t have any confidence.”

Asahi snorted softly. “It’s not like that.” 

His bike was charging on the side of the house. He wheeled it out of the bushes, yanked the cord, and rolled it off the kickstand into the road. 

Noya settled behind him. “Wow, it’s like what all those retired old ladies ride to the flower market.”

“I didn’t say it was a nice bike.”

“You didn’t say how lame it was, either.”

He shook his head, biting on a smile. “You can walk home with that attitude, g.”

The sun warmed the bay side of the mountain first, and the temperatures were already climbing into midday averages when Asahi turned down a narrow alley cramped between the high facades of family compounds. Blue sprays of ivy tumbled over rosy, sun-soaked stone.

Noya tapped his shoulder. “This one, this one.” Asahi eased up on the throttle, and used the sole of his shoe to brake. 

“What time is it?”

“Quarter-to.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you at school -- ” Noya headbutt him, kissed his ear with mostly teeth, and without hardly stepping off the bike first, the libero caught on a woody spool of vines and scaled the sheer face of a ten-foot wall in seconds. Every parent’s worst nightmare. 

Asahi kicked off again into the sunrise, and somewhere between that wall and his side of the mountain, he remembered the game with Date Tech. He remembered he was supposed to be the ace. The needy hum-thrum of anxiety seeped in, pinning up his insides like needle and thread. Asahi thought of the thing on the window sill in his shed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya boi had to use some (slightly modified) dialogue from the _Haikyuu!_ script for this one -- so i marked a couple lines with a '*'

Noya soared through his morning routine. He’d packed his bag two weeks ago: uniform, spare socks, snacks and sunscreen; right down to the de-stinker balls in his good cleats. Volleyball was just about the only thing in his life Noya kept meticulously organized. In a house with seven people, sometimes nine or ten, all coming and going, that was a hard thing to do. The oldest of five, Nishinoya knew you couldn’t leave anything up to logic or good sense; when he lost something, he checked the couch cushions, the kitchen shrine, the bathtub, the rice cooker -- and if all else failed, he started looking for freshly-dug holes in the front yard. His mom found her work lanyard and ID on the laundry line, last week. And Dad finally found the F-key on his keyboard when a passing storm flushed the gutters -- washed up on the front doormat like a little curse. 

Incidentally, in a large household you also develop abnormally good instincts for catching dropped valuables, avoiding direct hits to the face, and stopping fast-moving projectile objects, often all at the same time.

Taku beaned him with a toy basketball as soon as he left the bathroom -- a good shot, from behind the door, bounced off the opposite wall. Perfect execution, but Noya should’ve seen it coming. 

He said, “You’re getting better.”

Taku said, “You’re getting worse.”

His oldest brother was eleven years old and two inches taller than him. Siblings were a lot more troublesome when they got too big to put in the toilet.

At the breakfast table, Noya’s mother accused him of glowing. The more he denied it, the more suspicious she got. Game day, he reminded her. He chalked it up to game day excitement -- Noya had six texts fired off to Tanaka at seven a.m. to prove it, and most of them just said _‘game day’_ with varying quantities of the buff arm emoji. His plan went sour when she scrutinized the screen and asked what _‘you ready to yaki that soba, my bunnn??’_ referred to, and why Tanaka had responded with _‘did you butter that?!!!’_ He explained to his mother without flushing or stuttering that his conversations with his best friend were mostly nonsense.

“He’s the one who calls you _‘Noy_ a.’” She said it like a curse on Japanese. 

“They all call me Noya, Mom.”

“Why? What’s wrong with your real name?”

“Nothing, it’s just not what I like to be called -- ” 

“Well, it’s your choice. But I think it’s ridiculous, Yū. You have a unique and lovely name.” Her eyes snapped over his shoulder and she growled. “ _Yūto_ \-- stop! Oh, you shit! What is that? Put it down! I’m warning you -- ” She leapt off her chair.

And so it goes, in the Nishinoya household. He finished his breakfast, hunted for seconds, and ripped into a box of Taku’s favorite cereal. It was kind of like scheduling a fight for later.

“What are you staring at?”

“Nothing!”

“Then why are your eyes open, stupid?”

Hide ducked under the table. The youngest. 

Noya slipped out the door at nine thirty, and started the long walk down the hill, trying to chill the chant in his head. Game day, _game day_ \-- 

But then Tanaka caught up at the walking bridge, trotting down a slope from the direction of Crater Lake. He heard him before he saw him. “Noya!”

The sound of his best friend’s voice jump-started the fervor in his heart. He looked around. “Dude!” 

“ _Noy_ a!”

_“Dude!”_

They collided; hand-slaps didn’t even begin to describe it. “Gaame- _day!”_ The hype doubled immediately. Nishinoya was two seconds from tearing off his shirt, too, but the sound of a passing ferry drowned out their next words, and he remembered they were in public. It was Saturday, nearly ten a.m., and the two boisterous high schoolers -- sorry, high school and ele _ment_ ary schooler -- were getting looks.

“Alright, I know you want to. Tell me what happened last night.”

“Huh? Uh, nothing!” Noya couldn’t talk about that with his _hom_ ie --

“Well, it’s not nothing, my dude,” Tanaka, overloud. “Or I wouldn’t be getting texts about buns at six in the morning.”

“ _Sh!_ ” Noya hissed. “Shut up! It was seven, you idiot! And nothing happened. All I meant to say was, it’s on.”

“It’s on?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s _on_ -on? Good for you, dog. Now make it last two months, and we can talk buns.”

“Please stop saying that.”

“Then _I’ll_ be the one eating my words, seeing as, we both know, you’ve never done anything except volleyball for more than two months.”

The bus was already idling outside the Karasuno gym when they arrived on campus. Noya panned his milling teammates and spotted the ace -- also idling, posted up with the second-years at the edge of the third-year crowd, looking like Daichi’s first inventory item. He briefly considered what sort of greeting would seem natural without being suspect, and ran into a few contradictions. The best he could do was normal. 

“Asahi!” The libero jumped on his back. “You ready?!”

Asahi’s shoulders slumped. “Nishinoya. It’s still early.”

“Not really, though.” Noya slid to the ground. “What’s up? Your eyes are barely open.”

“He’s probably sore from last night,” said Daichi.

Suga looked up from his phone. Asahi waited too long. “Um. What?”

Daichi peered at him. “From all those serves you were doing.”

“Oh! Right!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just, forgot you saw that.” Asahi, laughing nervously. “I probably overdid it.”

“The ride is a couple of hours,” said Suga. “Try to get some extra sleep. We need you today.”

When they started to board, Nishinoya threw an elbow. “That was smooth, ace.”

“What?” Quiet: “I really did forget.”

A weird tickle slid up his spine, and Noya surged forward again. “Hey, sit with us in the back.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tanaka interrupted. “Only cool kids sit in the back. Everyone knows that.”

Asahi actually hesitated. “He’s right. I don’t belong here.”

“What? No, sit. It’s fine, dude,” Noya whirled on his classmate and shook him by the collar, whisper-hissing: “Leave him alone, or I will show up at your house, put you in a bag, and clean up the blood -- ”

Tanaka went from cackling to shrieking. “Noya, you’re scaring me- _AH!_ Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry! I was just messing around!”

“Sit down -- ” a shout from the head of the bus. “And _shut up!”_

###### 

It was impossible to sleep on a bus ride through the country, anyway. The most you could do was close your eyes and try to avoid getting a concussion against the window. Twenty different conversations and the combined force of Nishinoya and Tanaka in the back row together didn’t make for peaceful or relaxing white noise, but about halfway through the ride they drove through a smattering of fog and rain, and Asahi was able to forget, for a little bit, where they were headed. 

Noya was so psyched up for the game he was shining, and it made every minute worse. Asahi was going to see the positivity and enthusiasm ripped right out of these first-years. And it would be his fault, at least partially. For being a lousy ace. 

He didn’t think it could get any worse, but it did; the bus seemed to arrive at Sendai City Gymnasium in no time at all. 

“Y’okay, ace? You look sick.”

“It’s Date Tech’s color scheme isn’t it? Gets me every time.”

Barely a foot on the scene and Tanaka was already talking smack. Not that the upperclassmen didn’t occasionally join in, but eventually Daichi had to tuck him under his arm and drag him away. 

Asahi fell silent through the whirlwind. He had a strategy for dealing with anxiety before games; but every time he tried to think of something breathless and horrible to offset the nerves, Nishinoya had to go and grin at him, or say something uplifting, borderline heroic -- Asahi wasn’t blaming him, but suddenly the worst thing that could happen was right in front of him: failing Noya. Losing the trust and faith of his libero.

He had bad games before. They all had -- it was selfish to take it personally. Karasuno wasn’t blazing a trail anywhere but back to the parking lot long before Asahi stepped on the court that day. But even so, what followed was the longest and most painful two sets of his life. A complete shut-out; not a single one of his spikes made it past the Iron Wall. Karasuno scored seven points in the first set off Date Tech errors. Asahi felt deeply the moment when each one of his teammates simply shut down, and accepted the loss, all except one; he felt Noya’s eyes on his back, felt it every time he hit the floor diving for a blocked ball. New bruises. For what? The score was 23-15 in the second set, and Asahi stopped calling for sets. Volleyball, he decided, was the path to self-destruction. In his stomach, a seed of hate turned.

The worst part wasn’t lining up at the end or the long ride home; it wasn’t the decompression meeting with the team in the home gym at Karasuno High; they accepted their losses, said goodbye to their third years. Daichi took the captain’s title. They swept up. 

Noya broke everyone’s trance in the maintenance room. “Dammit!” He threw some shit around. “I was useless out there -- I couldn’t save a single blocked ball!”* Hearing him close to tears triggered Asahi, and he was already shouting and sort of crying before anyone else could step in. Couldn’t he see they were the useless ones? Even the Date Tech crowd thought their libero was a fucking icon. 

“Nishi, why won’t you blame me for this? Even if you could’ve saved one, it would’ve been pointless, because I couldn’t make them _count!”*_

Daichi tried to stop him. Suga tried to defuse the argument with his own guilt, and they went back and forth until Noya had that scary look on his face and Asahi was sort of shaking under his fists. 

“You never know!” He hissed. “I would never blame you for a blocked ball. The next one might get through, you don’t know if you don’t _try!”*_

Asahi backed away, like he always did. Backed away until he stepped on a broom and fucking broke it. 

“Quit,” Nishinoya dared him, seething. “Quit, and I’ll never forgive you.”*

The worst part was seeing the hate in his own eyes reflected back. Hate for his choices, his weak nerves and flaws, his inability to make change or even believe in it -- Asahi was a bad fit for happiness, that much was clear. It was all too perfect; Noya’s challenge flit before him like a set, and Asahi spiked it down. He walked out of the gym, and vowed it would be the last time. _Nice kill._

The next day Nishinoya is served a thirty-day sentence for knocking over a vase. Or something. Asahi’s back was turned at the time, but if he’d been anywhere close enough to witness the vice principal putting his hands on Noya, he might’ve had some fighting words, too. 

Banned from classes, campus, and club activities. It seemed like a lot of trouble for a bit of pottery. 

The first week Asahi skips practice, he spends it in the shed. But even the shed has a little too much Noya in it now and he leaves home, feeling uncontained. The next week, he starts to take his bike on long rides. The next town, two towns over. He could do anything he wanted, out there -- but he never found what he was looking for.

Asahi couldn’t go back. You don’t _un_ quit something, it’s impossible. Especially not after you say a bunch of dumb stuff, tear up, and storm off in front of the guys. Ha-ha, _no._ Asahi left his pride on the laundry line -- this was about avoiding a mental breakdown. 

He sees a text from Nishinoya almost three weeks into forced isolation, and ignores it until the end of the day, and then the next day, and the next. It gives him so much anxiety to think about, he starts to leave his phone behind, and then leave his house. One of those times he ended up at the corner store across from Sakanoshita, staring at the cigarette display. 

The bell rang when a customer left. “Asahi?”

Oh, crap, Daichi! He scrambled. 

“What have you been -- hey, wait! _Asahi!”_ Gods, he sounded _pissed_.

He’d skipped almost a month of club activities, already, but when it came to avoiding unpleasant confrontations in public, Asahi stayed limber. Daichi wasn’t regularly mean but he was handy with a lecture, and he wasn’t ready for that yet. He had a feeling he might not get so lucky next time, though.

###### 

Technically, Noya was banned from _all_ club activities, but that didn’t keep him off the ladies’ courts. Number one objective: blocked ball retrieval. Nothing lit a fire under his ass like a humiliating loss, and since he wasn’t allowed in school anymore, Noya was free to work all day on his reflexes and stamina. Blocked balls rebounded at sixty miles an hour, at all angles, even ones that didn’t seem to make sense, and he had to be there for every single one. Or what kind of libero was he? 

The spiker hits the ball; the ball hits the blockers -- possibilities explode from the point of impact, a flock of scattered doves -- Noya zeroes in on the most probable path, and acts before he thinks. 

It’s all he can do to stay busy, especially with his mom riding him at home. She called the school to complain about her son’s impromptu ‘vacation,’ and who was going to educate him while he sulked around the house?... Karasuno High is responsible for his test scores, _and_ his wild behavior!... What did you just say?... _Home_ -life? I don’t see what that has to do with anything!

More chores. More chores seemed to be the consensus on how to deal with Noya’s ‘attitude problem,’ and his siblings were having a hay-day with it. ‘Make Yū do it,’ was the hip new bargaining chip in the Nishinoya household. Noya bore his punishment. He knew he was in the wrong. He shouldn’t’ve popped off at the stupid ace, not with the VP’s office so close. 

Yūma and Yūto told Hide about the toys sometimes hidden in cereal, and the little one munched through two boxes before puking sugar rainbow loops and stars all over Noya’s shoes, which were lined up and waiting for it, somehow. Once this cone of shame was lifted, he had beatings to deliver. 

The first one was for Asahi. About halfway through his month sentence, he sent the ace a text, and it went limp in his outbox like two open cans and a cut string. 

He even hiked over there, one night -- and it wasn’t easy sneaking out -- to the cold side of the mountain. He thought after a year of pretty obvious circling, he’d be able to pinpoint his teammate’s location, no problem. It even looked promising, at first: there was a light on in the shed; he only had to creep a little bit up the walk to see it. Then hurt and betrayal hit him so fast Noya stamped on the threshold, filled his lungs, and threw open the door, ready to rage. _Liar. Idiot. Coward --_

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Enzo leered from the shadows in Asahi’s chair. He had a kitchen torch in one hand, and the thing from the window sill in the other. “My little brother is a piece of shit.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Yes.”

Nishinoya waited. Then he growled. “So he’s a piece of shit, but you’re still protecting him?”

“Yes.”

Nishinoya walked down the hill, after that, and he stood on the walking bridge throwing rocks at the river for a while. When it got too dark to see the splashes, he wandered the main streets, waiting for someone to look the wrong way at him, _ho_ ping for an excuse to fight. He needed volleyball back in his life, pronto.

At the corner store he bought a popsicle and a bag of hot-fries, and stopped just outside the front door. It wasn’t like he thought he’d be waiting there, or anything. Noya ducked his head and chewed his lip to shreds. 

“Nishinoya? What are you doing out here?”

Shit, Daichi! He quickly scrubbed at his eyes, then ripped into the popsicle wrapper with his teeth. 

“You’re not going to run away from me, too, are you?”

“Huh? Me? Run?”

“Good point,” Daichi rubbed the back of neck. “Hey, we’re excited to have you back. Everyone misses you -- and we just got a pretty interesting batch of newbies, I think you’ll be surprised. Things are looking up.”

“That’s awesome,” the news lifted his spirits. “Man, I can’t wait to get back on the court. I’m staying sharp, I promise!”

“So I’ve heard. Just don’t get caught by the vice principal while you’re sneaking around the girls’ team, alright? We can’t afford any more probation time for our libero.”

“Yessir, Captain Daichi. No more disciplinary hearings sounds good to me!” He couldn’t figure out an indirect way to ask if Asahi had come back to practice yet, so he left it at that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's just get the angst out of the way.

When the month was up Noya found out the truth. He felt the return of a familiar stamping, spitting rage, and didn’t break anything but he did pop off in the gym again, this time with a bunch of first-years watching -- and even Ta _naka_ warned him to ease up on the ace. Noya didn’t care, they didn’t know the half of it. He wanted to break a hole through the wall, and if Asahi chose that minute to show up, then he just might.

Instead, Nishinoya worked with the first-years. Mostly the jumpy one; Hinata’s receives were terrible. The more he practiced, the more he could think. 

Daichi accused him of it all the time but he was just now realizing how true it was; on the court, Noya was a different person. A libero is supposed to be focused, goal-directed, and relaxed in the face of adversity. With nothing but a painted rectangle and an abstract set of rules, volleyball let Noya access the parts of himself he was forced to repress, normally; it was a chance for him to operate at one-hundred per cent in a world constantly trying to rein him in or keep him in check. Being an animal in the civilized world really sucked. Noya knew Asahi felt that way, too. It was just a shame he forgot --

Clarity struck Nishinoya like a pop quiz on a rainy Monday. He remembered something Suga said, a long time ago. _Guilt, and responsibility_. Of course. Asahi felt loss deeply, Noya knew that much, but the guy told him he had anxiety and he’d basically _pun_ ished him for it -- and then baiting the ace with quitting, what was he _thin_ king? It was like leading someone to a cliff and telling them they had to jump, so might as well make it a big one. Noya rolled his eyes at himself -- he really effed up, this time, and he knew he needed to fix it, but how? Doing more chores wouldn’t make Asahi come back.

Daichi never said anything about running into the ace again. And Noya was already planning to hunt him down and force him to accept his apology when there was a commotion at the window, one day, while they sorted teams for a practice match with the Neighborhood Association and the new Coach Ukai. One minute the libero was feeling conflicted about participating, and the next Hinata’s climbing up the walls. “Asahi! It’s Asahi!” 

For a split-second he wondered how the first-years even knew what he looked like -- then Karasuno’s ace took up the doorway, after a month of running away, holding his cleats, looking miserable and ashamed, and it broke his heart. 

Noya chewed his lip. His first instinct was to jump on his back and verbally abuse him for missing so much practice. Don’t make it awkward, he thought. _Don’t make it awkward!_ Noya held his breath and said nothing. They were on the same side of the court again, and he had new tricks to show off -- he would make sure Asahi wasn’t shut down. This time, it was going to be a fair fight.

A minute after Hinata’s first quick attack of the game, the old neighborhood guys were still stunned. Ukai looked half-dressed without his cigarette. It was in the following confusion Asahi half-turned to face him. “I was wrong,” he said, eyes down and up and down again. “I want to keep going, I want to clear that wall.”*

It was so sweet and honest, Noya tried not to glow too hard about it, but -- it felt good to have their heavy-hitter back. 

Usually the libero tried to keep it to a minimum, but there was some emotional team sharing and shouting of encouragement from both sides as the game got underway, and even more throughout. In fact, it was such an emotional outpouring of a game, the two sets dragged on nearly two hours. 

Finally the Neighborhood left, and Daichi took forever leading them through the stretches. Sweat cooled on the back of his neck, and Noya started to feel worn out. Not tired, just worn through, like he’d been someone else’s sock for a month. 

When Hinata held up Asahi again on the way out, Nishinoya stopped short behind the ace and tried to look impatient -- but not like he was waiting around, or anything. The first-year happened to glance over his shoulder and froze up, stuttering terrifically. Noya drifted closer. Asahi is at once warm and distant. 

“ -- To have a setter say something like that about you is pretty amazing. You should be proud.”

“You, too!”

Asahi blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, you have Nishinoya!” Hinata blurted. “He was going to quit volleyball for you, dude. And, well, he’s the best libero I’ve ever seen, so you must be proud, too!”

“I, uh, didn’t know that. Did he -- ”

Noya butt in. “Hey, short kid. Get lost.”

Hinata snapped to attention. “Yessir!”

The first-year scattered along with the rest, and Asahi heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks. He kept, _sta_ rin’ at me.”

“He wants to be the ace.”

“Maybe he should be.” He tries a fake smile, then it slips for half a real one. “Um, I know I already said this, but your receives today were… holy shit. You’re like an unfair advantage.”

“Don’t compliment me! You need to read your texts.”

Outside the gym, Noya jumped the steps. Asahi pulled the doors shut, sighed, and lost some of his exterior cool. “Nishinoya, I’m sorry -- ”

He bumped into his side. “Don’t, I’m not mad anymore.”

“So, this isn’t a text threatening to beat my face in?”

“No! You’re looking at the wrong one!” Noya’s face burned. “I sent another. I wanted to hang out. I -- didn’t mean to say that stuff, after Date Tech.”

“You were right, about all of it.”

“But it was wrong the way I did it.” He said, firm. “I knew about your anxiety but I didn’t make space for it, just unloaded all my frustration onto you. It wasn’t fair. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Asahi’s nervous laugh. “Don’t say that, please -- ”

Noya barreled on. “And I shouldn’t’ve baited you into quitting, I just didn’t think you’d break your promise.”

“Which promise?”

“The promise you made not to quit!”

“I think I’d remember promising that.”

“You did! I told you not to quit on me, and you said you couldn’t if you tried!”

“Oh, that. I never quit on you, though. I quit volleyball.”

“What… ” Noya bit his tongue. “What are you saying?”

“Nishi,” said Asahi. “The only reason I didn’t quit the team before last semester was on the off-chance I got to know you better. I still like volleyball, but probably not the same way I did before.”

“But! You just ignored me a whole month!”

“I know, I didn’t mean for it to go on so long,” he chuckled. “You scare me when you’re mad.”

That was fair, thought Noya. He got mad and he broke things. “I thought you gave up,” he murmured. “That’s all. And if you didn’t like me anymore, I was going to deal with it.”

“If I didn’t like you anymore, Nishinoya, you’d show up at my house with a body bag.”

“And probably kill your brother by mistake.”

Asahi actually laughed, loudly. He tipped his head back and really rattled the night with it. After crossing the walking bridge, it was time to split ways up the mountain, but Noya followed his teammate. He bumped against his side, again. The ace’s hand slipped over his shoulder and curled in a loose fist against his neck, and they trucked along in silence, for a while.

###### 

“Oh.” At the top of the hill, Noya hesitated. “I totally followed you home, dude. And I smell like an old crop fire.”

Asahi kept walking and he didn’t shift his hand. He tried to think of a cool way to beg for company. “D’you want to stay? I had kind of a rough day.”

Noya snorted, probably not fooled. “Sure, as long as your parents don’t mind me washing up at this hour.”

“Don’t worry, my mom works the night shift today.”

“Oh, whoa -- what does she do?”

“Cooking for the school canteen. And morning shifts, sometimes, tending crops. Tending my brother and me.”

“And… your dad?”

“Works at a bank in Tokyo.”

He didn’t ask why Asahi’s mom had to work so often and so hard when his dad had a fancy gig and a high salary in the city, and he was grateful for that -- Asahi couldn’t say more about his father even if he wanted to. Noya was a bit of a chatterbox but even he could read between the lines. 

Asahi led the way to the greenhouse. It was the end of April, beginning of May, and the air on his side of the mountain was crisp, but not cold. 

“Cold?” He asked anyway.

“Yeah, but, it’s kind of nice after that match,” said Noya. “Maybe it’s just me but I don’t remember volleyball involving so many mushy speeches about self-worth when I was a first-year.” 

“You and Tanaka have a much more bang-pow attitude on the court.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re totally capable of the _bang_ and the _pow_ , but shit. Little to no ability to focus.”

“That quick attack is pretty amazing.”

“No kidding. Kageyama is a machine.” A soft elbow in his side. “No Hut today, ace?”

Asahi shook his head, biting on a smile. His ‘Hut.’ The risky part about letting someone into your life was they could change the way you thought about it forever.

“Nah. I need to eat more than I need to cope.” He dropped his hand to dig out his keys. “I should, find a new way to cope, anyway.”

They crunched through the gravel. In the quiet dark of the hothouse, Noya toed out of his shoes first, and stepped up into the wood entryway. It was too good an opportunity to waste. Asahi reached for the libero; he brought his hands up to his face, pushed the pads of his thumbs over his sideburns, and watched his teammate’s eyes narrow and gleam in the tilted shadows. The last time Noya fisted his hands in his jacket, it was to shove him around -- 

“Hello? Asahi?” He prompted. “Kiss me.”

He was _still_ going to shove him around, Asahi realized, and decided that was okay. Nishinoya’s mouth was warm, the hair on the back of his neck cool with sweat, and the ace wished just a whisper of his natural-born ambition and fearlessness might bleed over to him, some day. A month of emptiness and absences weighed down on his head. Would he ever stop making mistakes?

Noya broke away first. Suspiciously: “Dude… are you crying?”

“No,” Asahi sniffed. “Yeah, sorry. I really missed that.”

“It’s nothing to cry over!”

“I know, I know,” he tried to laugh it off. Sounded terrible. “But you were such a bad-ass today, and, you’re covered in bruises -- and I’m so pathetic.”

Noya flicked his flat cola eyes and sighed like he had a lot of work on the horizon. “Look, I’m going to give you a hard time about skipping practice for about four days, or however long it takes you to get back to your best. What’s the point of feeling bad about it now? We make mistakes, we pay for them, and we come back twice as strong.”

“ _You_ come back strong, maybe. I suck, permanently.”

“Asahi, you’re not the only one who feels like they’re screwing up over and over again, _trust_ me. You should talk to my mom. It gets a lot worse than assaulting the vice principal.” Noya stretched out an arm and put his fist on Asahi’s chest like he was going to punch straight through. “I know it sounds corny, but sports saved my life. I’m not saying it’ll be the same for you, but, it might be something we sort of have in common.”

“If you try,” he added, and the fist changed to a frigid little palm sliding around his neck. “So try. Please.”

Asahi held his breath, and nodded, and tried not to say anything else pathetic. But it was his nature. “Um, it’s probably a bad time to ask, but you said try, so.”

“Spit it out, man.”

“I was wondering if you still wanted to, or if you’re even interested, I guess, since it got weird before -- ”

“Asahi!”

“Um. You still want to go with me?”

“Yes,” Noya answered, before he’d hardly worked out the question. “Of course. I haven’t changed my mind. What are you grinning about?”

It felt like a long time since Asahi celebrated a victory in his head. The sudden turnaround in his life was so steep it was making him dizzy. Dating his libero. “ _Hell_ yeah.”

While his feet were in the gravel and Noya’s on hardwood -- the step between them covering some of the distance between 5’2” and 6’1” -- Asahi leaned down again. He was starting to get an idea how they fit together. Noya wound his whole arm around his neck and pulled on his jersey with his free hand. The smell of them both and all their athletic gear got sharp. You knew you were gone for someone when you kind of liked the smell of their B.O.. More than that, Asahi liked the feeling of his skin under his mouth. Couldn’t really get enough, actually -- he pulled away, afraid he was going to do something too aggressive or weird. Getting bogged down in emotions at the door for so long, what was he thinking? As if the practice match hadn’t been long and grueling enough.

“You wash up first.” He led the way to the kitchen. “I’ll scope out the food situation.”

“You cooking?”

Asahi checked the fridge, the pantry, his favorite cabinet, and circled back to the fridge. “Um, yeah. I don’t know.”

Noya peered over his arm. “Yo, I know exactly what to make. Are you blind? You’ve got eggs, tomatoes, and green onions, it’s like the holy trinity! You only ever get two out of the three, in my house. And if your mom likes it how I think she does -- a-ha!” He shouldered around and plucked something from the door. “Oyster sauce. Dude. _You_ wash up first. I’m about to win best boyfriend in the first round.”

“Does it have to be a competition?” sighed Asahi. 

“If you can keep up!”

No use trying to stop him, not that he wanted to. Noya wouldn’t even let people reach high things for him once he decided to do something alone. 

Asahi set the rice cooker to warm, and leaned against the sink. “Um, the thing is. My brother’s home. He’ll come out if he smells something cooking. He’s like a jackal.”

“I can handle him,” Noya chuckled. He already had oil in the wok, and the induction panel figured out. Flick of the wrist.

“I know you can, just take it easy, okay? He’s a pain in the ass, but he can’t always help it.”

“Yeah, whatever.” 

Asahi was being dismissed, he knew, but he stayed. Usually it was Nishinoya behind him all the time; now he got a chance to be behind the libero, seeing but out of sight. It was kind of nice. Noya cracked an egg in one hand. Fuck it -- Asahi’s knees were going weak. He shoved off the sink, touched the fault between his shoulder blades, and mouthed at the back of his neck. 

“You’ll be eating shells, if you keep doing that.”

“Thank you for cooking,” he murmured into his skin. “You’re so smart, Noya. And cool, and sexy.”

“Uh-whoa, what was that last one?” Nishinoya, grinning wide. “Hey, wait a second. Asahi -- _Asa_ hi! _Ugh_.”

Asahi didn’t run away, he just decided it was time to clean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art next
> 
> <3fool


	6. Chapter 6

Needless to say, Nishinoya handled a wok from a young age. With so many mouths competing for the same spoon, it didn’t make sense to sit on his hands and wait for an adult to notice he was hungry -- Noya took initiative. He got good at making things out of nothing; it even started to feel good doing it. And if it meant shy compliments from Karasuno’s ace, then, shit. Sign him up. Nishinoya Yū, semi-competent live-in chef. And his mom thought he was only suited for cat burglary and minor assault. This would show her. 

Noya was still kind of laughing to himself, eating up imaginary praise, when he saw an extra shadow in the hall, and nearly added a wedge of his thumb to the bowl of wedged tomatoes. 

“Damn, dude! Don’t loom!” 

Enzo shuffled in. “You’re not the turd.”

Sometimes Asahi startled him coming around a corner too fast, but this guy was like if Asahi really _tried_ to be creepy. 

“No, I’m not,” said Noya. He pulled on the wok to keep the onions loose. “And if you call him a turd again, I’ll pretend I was deaf when he told me to ease up on you, and do exactly what I’ve been wanting to do since you called me a libero.”

“But you _are_ a libero,” he snorted. “What could _you_ do to _me?”_

“I’m the best libero, okay? Remember that.” Noya waved his wood spatula. “And I’d spoil it for you, but I think it’s much more effective when I make my siblings _wait_ for the punch-line. It just _hits_ harder.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“You got it, buddy.”

Enzo dropped below eye-level for a moment, and Nishinoya heard the sound of a cabinet door opening and closing. He rose with the kitchen torch in hand and, Noya finally noticed, the other thing. 

“What is that?” He nodded to it. “Asahi won’t tell me.”

“This,” Enzo settled on a stool opposite the cooking surface. The thing emitted a heavy _clink_ like metal and glass when he put it down. “Is a dab rig.”

“A what?”

“A dab rig.”

Noya got an eye on the basic design, now. “It looks like a water-pipe, like all the old guys at the park are always smoking cigarettes out of.”

“Those guys are fiends, but this isn’t for cigarettes.”

“Oh.”

He fired up the kitchen torch and aimed the bluish flame at a smaller off-shoot on the side of the rig. Noya flicked his eyes up once in a while, begrudgingly intrigued. Eventually, the little off-shoot was so hot it was glowing red as soft steel. “You heat the nail,” said Enzo. “When it’s hot enough, you touch the wax to it. It’s called a dab.”

“You smoke the wax?”

“Yes.”

He produced a palm-sized black jar and a thin tool like half a pair of tweezers -- he dipped the tool in the jar, then just barely touched it to the red nail, inhaling from the tall end. It was a very strange thing to witness. Even stranger was when Asahi’s brother stood abruptly, walked three steps to the wood stove, and blew an unreal amount of smoke at the ceiling. Noya watched it puddle near the gaping hole around the metal chimney pipe, draining slowly upward and away. Straight to Asahi’s room, he realized. 

“Did ya have to blow it up there?”

Enzo chortled, voice light and strained from the magic trick. “He likes it.”

Nishinoya picked out some green onion tails that got too crispy, and started adding the cracked eggs. Enzo stopped talking for a few solid minutes, but he didn’t look inclined to move from his stool or even open his eyes all the way. Noya tried not to draw too many conclusions from the way the elder Azumane behaved and the way Asahi sometimes did. 

Finally he noticed the direction his eyes were flicking. “Do you like green onions?”

A shrug. 

“You can have them, if you want.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, they just died in the oil, that’s all. I’m not feeding Asahi black onions.”

“Then you shouldn’t have burned them.”

“It makes the oil taste better -- that’s where all the flavor comes from,” said Noya. “Bro, do you even wok?”

Another shrug. 

“You can eat with us, if you want,” he tried, and made up a lie. “I, um, couldn’t find the bowls and chopsticks.”

Another minute passed. Enzo tipped off his stool, and shuffled into the kitchen behind Nishinoya. After some rustling, he placed two bowls on the counter, a clattering of chopsticks, then paddled rice into a third bowl. Sitting down again, he periodically snatched up the burned scallions in his chopsticks, quick and precise like he was stealing them. Inwardly, Noya rolled his eyes, and pretended not to notice. 

His favorite dish didn’t take long to cook, but by the time he switched to low heat, he was so hungry he added his rice second, and ate leaning against the sink, moonlight on his neck. “Eat,” Noya nodded to the jackal. “I made a shitload.”

It was enough. A non-traditional dinner, maybe, but sometimes those were the best ones. Enzo didn’t say anything gratifying or even remotely polite, but he did go back for seconds. Noya finished his first bowl, returned to the wok, and paused at the island.

“Can I see that?”

A shrug. 

Noya reached for the black jar, and worked it apart in his hands. He wasn’t prepared for the pungency. “Damn! That’s musty.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad smell.”

“No, I -- ” It looked like mortician’s wax. “I guess not, it’s just really strong.”

“It _is_ concentrate.”

“Enzo -- ” it was Asahi, rounding the corner off the landing. “What the fuck?”

“The fuck’s with _you!”_

It was starting to sound like a family greeting. 

“What’s with me? I’m trying to clean my room, and I’m getting a _con_ tact high.” The ace accused. “Why would you bring the rig in here?”

“The _libero_ asked about it. He wanted to see it.”

“Whoa,” Noya interrupted. “That’s not true.” He looked at the wax. “Not really.”

Asahi’s hands closed around his, and he took the jar away. “I’m sorry about him.”

“It’s fine -- ”

“He’s fiending.” His brother leered. “Shorty wants a hit.”

“Enzo,” Asahi looked over his shoulder. “Stay in Hell.”

“Forget it, ace,” Noya laughed. Sibling rivalry looked good on the soft-spoken wing spiker. “Eat something, or you won’t get any -- I’m going in for seconds.”

Asahi exhaled long, then reached for the last empty bowl. It looked tiny in his hand. He filled it, emptied it, and filled it again. And gradually, his shoulders fell. “You really don’t mind it? That thing.”

“It’s not scary, or weird, you know,” Noya said. “Ryū smokes sometimes. I’ve just never seen a rig like that before.”

“Tanaka, really?”

“Yeah! He says it’s so he doesn’t get nausea after practice.” Noya shifted his feet. He made a couple of deductions. “Why do you do it?”

Asahi lowered his chopsticks but kept his bowl at chest-height, looking like he wanted to hide, or run. “Um, so I don’t worry so much. And I can get to class, and talk to people. It helps me to eat, and sleep.”

“So, be a normal person, basically,” he gathered. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s, possible to overdo it,” Asahi glanced toward his brother.

“Yep," said Noya. "I’ve definitely caught you stoney baloney on campus a couple of times.”

“Nishi,” Asahi covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh my god.”

“ _Stoney baloney.”_ Enzo echoed, gleeful. 

“No cap! First thing in the morning, ‘Hey Asahi, what’s up?’ And he looks at you like you’re the only one standing on the ground.”

“It’s not -- ” the ace, quiet. “That often, is it?”

“Nah,” Noya bluffed. “I just thought you were naturally a bit of an astronaut.”

Enzo hammered the counter. He was tearing up. “He’s got your fucking number, bro.”

“Hey. Can I try?” Noya rocked on his toes. “With the torch and stuff? It looks kind of fun.”

Asahi, panic-stricken. “No, that’s not a good idea. Not, uh, for your first time.”

“It’s not the first time!”

“What Tanaka does is probably a much more reasonable -- ” He started to fumble. 

“What do you mean?”

Enzo broke in. “Dabs aren’t for old dudes chilling in the park. And whatever your buddy does, this is like, ten bazillion times stronger.”

Noya narrowed his eyes. “Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not!”

“Is too.”

“Just a small one, then?”

“A small dab! _Ha!_ There’s no such thing. Unless -- ” Enzo leered at his brother. “Ass-face starts it off, and leaves the other half for you.”

“Asahi! Can you do that?”

The ace clutched his bowl. “Is this, peer pressure?”

“No!” snapped Noya, but he and Enzo said it at the same time, and Asahi frowned at both of them. 

The libero crossed the kitchen to lean next to his teammate at the sink, and dropped his voice. “I was only asking -- it’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be fun. Training camp starts Monday, and if it’s anything like last year we’ll have about seven minutes every day to eat, shit, and sleep.”

“You had to remind me.”

“I’m gonna miss you like hell,” he murmured. “And the last fun memory I have of us is a month out of date.”

Asahi swallowed heavily. Noya let his gaze tumble down, down, back and forth like a pinball game, and he didn’t reach out or anything but their legs sort of touched. 

“Ew. Stop.” Enzo, across the room. “It’s not even what you’re doing, it’s the energy.”

“Wash up, first,” said Asahi. “You haven’t even sat down.”

Noya bounced off the counter. “Does that mean -- ?”

“I’m, thinking about it.”

“ _Yes!"_ He threw a fist, already planning a barrage of victorious texts -- Tanaka was going to lose his _mind_. It was on, it was so on, it was _back_ on, and it was on fucking fire.

###### 

Nishinoya’s steps faded, got louder again, and faded again. Asahi shoveled his fourth bowl of rice, listening for the chug of the water pipes. He scraped the wok clean, ensnared in a level staring contest with his brother. Enzo lit the kitchen torch, and started to heat the nail, never breaking eye contact. You couldn’t really start a conversation with someone heating a dab nail, anyway, so Asahi waited, and waited, until the end of the whole process, right up to him walking his ass to the wood stove to blow the smoke up to his room. 

“Why did you have to bring the rig in here?”

Enzo spread his arms wide. Slowly: “What is your _deal?”_

“I didn’t want to jump this on him -- ”

“Doesn’t sound like he was jumped at all, dope. You’re not subtle. And who cares? Kid wants to try, then let him try.” 

“I just don’t understand why he wants to do this, right now. Things have been fine -- ”

“Fine how you normally are, or fine when you’re pretending to be?” Enzo grinned, sharkish. “Wake up, spit-take. Even I can see he’s doing it for you.”

“How does exposing how pathetic I am to Nishinoya, and then inviting him to join in, benefit me at all?”

“Make you feel better, maybe. Feel like you’re not evil incarnate for having one lousy bad habit. Make you loosen up, maybe -- but that’s a stretch.”

Asahi actually considered it. Then: “You like him. You never like any of my friends.”

A shrug. “None of your friends are cool.”

“I still wish you hadn’t done this tonight.” Asahi tipped his bowl over his face to finish it. “Okay, I could eat this every day.”

“I know, right?” Enzo balanced one chopstick between his nose and upper lip. “So, are you gay because you scare all the girls away, or is there another reason?”

A sigh. “I can’t talk about this with you, man.”

“Do they all come in shorts with the bad-ass attitude? It doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe I should try getting into cock.”

“I hate you. I really hate you, right now.”

“I mean, Nishinoya’s already dating _you_ , so, that’s like eighty per cent of me.”

Eighty per cent?! Asahi cringed. “Shut up. Please, shut up.”

“Show some respect, little brother.” Enzo shoved off the counter. “Remember -- I will outrank you, forever.” And he trailed into the den. The TV flicked on.

Asahi did the dishes. One of the nice things about wok food was you only had to clean the wok. Afterward, he went out to the shed and brought back a few split cuts of ash, enough to run the wood stove for a couple hours. It would warm up the house a little, and help clear out the smell of smoke and oil. That, and taking the hatchet for a swing helped to calm his nerves. Asahi was fairly adept at swinging, and hitting. 

Coaxing the logs to burn took a little more time and a lot more finesse, but by the time fire was licking at the grate, and the kettle set for tea, Asahi was drying the last of the dishes -- and he heard the tell-tale rolling thunder of Nishinoya on the steps.

###### 

Wood cracked and popped in the kitchen. Noya turned the corner, toweling his hair back to spikes. “Whoa, that smells good.” He stepped up on the lip of warm brick surrounding the stove and turned his back gratefully to the glow. The kitchen was clean, a television hummed in the next room. Asahi had tied his hair again, loosely. 

Noya tried to catch his eye, and after some chasing around, he did. The ace took a few steps closer, closer, until Noya stretched out a hand and pulled him the rest of the way. Then he rose to his toes and offered him the perfect angle -- but Asahi didn’t take it. Noya dropped back to his heels.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he mumbled. “Not really.”

“Not really? What is it?”

“Just some dumb stuff my brother said.”

“He does say a lot of dumb stuff.”

“I’m him, I’m -- eighty per cent him. It’s awful.”

“He said that?” Noya bit down on a smile. “That _is_ really dumb. But, I guess, we have that much in common with a banana peel, at least genetically, so he’s not wrong.”

“Are you comparing my brother to a banana peel?”

“In terms of desirable qualities, yeah.”

Hopeful: “Yeah?”

Noya laughed -- one quick, wolfish bark. “Asahi.” He reached his palms up to his neck; this time his teammate ducked his head, and Noya nosed lightly along his jawline before pressing just the promise of a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Sorry for following you home, so much. I have a hard time taking my eyes off things I want.”

He started grinning halfway through the fake apology, and Asahi rolled his eyes, but it was worth it for the ace’s sheepish smile. “Next time I’ll follow you.”

“I don’t know if you’re ready for that," he laughed. "My house is like an airport compared to this. Flying chunks, people, and objects; I probably don’t know how to chill because there was barely any space for it, growing up.”

“Chill here, then,” Asahi hummed. “I can teach you.” He thumbed at Noya’s hips over his clothing, just once, and pulled away like it was an accident. “Want to heat the nail?”

Noya never used a kitchen torch before -- it was kind of exciting. He couldn’t help but think back on all the times in his life when he would’ve really liked to have a tiny flamethrower on hand. Like every time that prickly vine grew over the mailbox, or he got his report card from school, or when Taku blocked the television, or his mom told him to take in the laundry… 

“Nishinoya, um,” Asahi cleared his throat. “I think that’s good. Please be careful.”

 _Oh,_ Noya let up on the trigger, and the flame died out. The nail part of the rig was so hot it was going pink in the middle. 

“I’m going to do the first pull, and then you finish off what’s in the barrel, okay?” He tucked some loose hair behind his ear, and it bounced back. “It won’t look like much, but it’s a lot.”

Noya watched his teammate hold the rig close and lightly tap the nail with a glob of wax. There was the hissing sound of air moving quickly, and the belly of the rig churned milk-white with smoke so dense it looked like spun silk. Asahi passed it to him still leaking, and Noya pressed his lips to the mouthpiece. 

What remained in the flute end was probably just a fraction of the main event, but he couldn’t hold it for even a second; Noya sputtered and coughed around a quick exhale, rapid-fire like his lungs couldn’t get rid of it all fast enough. 

From the den, a rude shout: “Drink your milk, _li_ bero!” Enzo laughed and laughed. 

Asahi was standing on the brick. Smoke trickled from his nose in one long ribbon to the hole in the ceiling, where it ripped and frayed into pale blue fragments and faded away, like a dream, forgotten. 

Noya’s exhales didn’t look half as dreamy; his coughing blitz had created a fuzzy cloud layer around his head, which he waved away, but part of it stayed -- like a little fog built up behind the eyes. He blinked a couple times. A numb sensation fell on him like a hammer, and Noya felt cemented to the floor. He looked at his feet. No, they were fine, he just, couldn’t move them. “Whoa.”

His teammate touched his back, then his hip again, and seemed to encourage him toward the den. Noya sloshed through his brainwaves to keep up. “Don’t, I can’t move, I’m, stuck.”

“No, you’re not,” huffed Asahi, and his hands got firmer. “But in a minute you will be, so sit down.”

Noya sank into the couch. He stretched his legs to tuck his toes under the kotatsu’s heavy blanket, and let his eyes half-close. There wasn’t anything on his mind, really, except the present moment. The mere anomaly of his own existence struck him as a very strange and precious thing. This had to be what it felt like to be something that was alive but didn’t move -- like, a tree. Or a coral reef.

“Couch-locked,” Enzo snickered. “You’re baked potato high.”

So that was the technical term. Nishinoya relaxed. All his bruises and practice sores settled into a nice, distant thrum. Eventually, something crossed his mind: “What the fuck am I watching?”

“I don’t know. It’s a French cooking show.”

Noya squinted at the screen. All he saw was a huge, blank expanse of ice, and two old dudes fishing down a black hole. “Doesn’t look like France.”

“I think it’s French, uh, Canada, actually.”

“What country is that? It looks miserable, it’s making me cold.” Noya pushed his feet further under the kotatsu. “Wow. I’m in an ice hut in French Canada.”

“We both are.”

“God, you’re right,” he realized. “That’s us, dropping lines into deep holes, hoping someone else is alive down there to nibble back.”

“Tea, Nishinoya.” Asahi’s voice. 

“I don’t think it’s tee, man. It looks lonely out there.” 

“Not tee, _tea_.”

“Huh? What’s tee? Not these old guys.”

“Oh,” Nishinoya noticed the steaming mug at last, and took the offering with unintentionally exaggerated care. “Thanks. I mean, French Canada’s alright but I don’t know if it’s tee. That’s tip-top -- that’s the summit. That’s the ace about to knock out seven people with one line-shot.”

Enzo swung one leg over the arm of his chair. “The summit of anger management, maybe,” he grunted. “He’s got nowhere to go from there but down. _Down._ Into that hole in the ice.”

Noya put his tea on the table, and focused on getting the bag out without dripping all over the place. Both his arms seemed to stop at the wrist. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Asahi has the most potential out of anyone on the team.” He glanced at Enzo, and caught him looking. “I am going to teabag you,” the libero warned. “When you least expect it.”

“What? You can’t _bag_ me from over there.”

“Fucking watch me. I have a sack of wet leaves and the willpower to put it through a wall. Let’s try your reflexes.”

“You do not understand what teabagging is.”

“Yes, yes I do,” said Noya. He sat back. “What else could it be? The verb ‘to teabag’ means to strike your enemies with a wrinkly, lukewarm _mis_ sile moving at high speed, the wetter the better.”

“No,” he snorted. “You’re so wrong -- ”

“I will bag you so hard, dude, when it’s over, you’ll forget every other definition of the word.”

Even Asahi was sort of cracking up next to him, and that was nice. Noya touched his teammate’s knuckles until he turned over his palm, and pushed his fingers through the gaps. 

“Enzo.” The ace, softly -- “Welcome to the Nishinoya Show.”

“Yeah, holy shit.” He popped the ‘T’. “Does it ever stop?”

“It’s pretty much a 24/7 broadcast. It’s not any worse than usual, actually.”

Noya expected to feel riled but couldn’t really make it happen. His tongue was sticking to his teeth, a stale wind rolled over the back of his throat. Dry-mouth times a milly. He reached for his tea but it was delivered by Asahi’s free hand before the thought even fully formed.

“He’s a chatterbox.”

“More like a _soap_ box. Get this kid a crate to stand on.”

The guys in the ice fishing hut were eating, now. Bundled up in twenty fur-lined coats each and toasting each other with crystal wine goblets barely manageable in thick mittens. The subtitles were on but Noya couldn’t read them fast enough so he only listened to the vague _womp-womp_ of a foreign language. It was soothing. 

“Dude, you need an agent.” Enzo leered at him from a distance. “You need someone who can show you to the world properly, so they don’t get too freaked.”

Asahi snorted. “I’m sure you’d know the agency.” 

“Oh,” Noya, surfacing from his tea. “Nice kill, Asahi. But louder, next time.”

Enzo waved a hand. “That’s a blocked ball, at most.”

“Then I’ll pick it up,” the libero countered. “What the fuck are you watching?”

“I _told_ you already, it’s a _food_ documentary, in _Can_ ada.”

“Call it whatever you want, man, but it’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen. You barely see any food or fish. It’s just two dudes getting it on in a hut. Do people actually watch this?”

Asahi covered his eyes. “Nishinoya, maybe -- ”

“Wow, he’s got a point.” Enzo stared at the screen. “The French are bizarre. And I’ve been absorbing this for an hour, already. Yo, get the rig, bro. I’m going deeper in.”

“Seriously?” But Asahi shifted. He tugged his hand free. 

Noya frowned. “How much of that shit can you take?”

“Too much,” Enzo chortled, darkly.

“Hey, Asahi -- ” Noya tossed his teabag, kind of medium-high, making a nice arc in front of Karasuno’s ace, who startled but swatted it down. 

The elder Azumane erupted. “ _Agh!_ Fuck! That hit me in the eye, you piece of shit!”

As did Nishinoya. “Ha-ha! _Yes!_ As seen in preview, now in reality! How does it feel?”

“A little bit cold, actually.”

Asahi brushed past them. “He did warn you.”

###### 

The wood stove had burned down to deep reds and heady browns. Asahi opened the grate and poked and prodded another log inside. He felt rather than heard the libero follow after him. Noya gathered the miscellaneous dab things and brought them out to Enzo, then returned to set his mug by the sink. 

“Here,” it was almost too dark to see. “I’m raiding my mom’s stash.”

“What is it?”

“Lotus cookie,” said Asahi. He looked up at the hole in the ceiling, and down at Nishinoya. His legs seemed to be working again, now. “Wanna go upstairs?”

He hummed a yes, and Asahi celebrated inwardly -- he wanted to be alone. Well, he wanted to be alone with Noya. It was painful but inevitable that he would be forced to share everything he had with his miserable brother, but after sitting around minor-league stoned while his teammate talked shit and held hands with him, Asahi realized that in the libero’s eyes, he was ranked much, much higher than anyone who had a problem with him, es _pecially_ higher than Enzo, and definitely a lot higher than the ace deserved. It was an awesome place to be, it was a scary place to be.

“I’ve had one of these before,” Nishinoya, munching. “They’re wedding cookies.”

Asahi choked on a wayward crumb. “They’re so good, though. And my brother doesn’t know about them.”

“And training camp is going to rip them right out of us.”

“I can’t wait.” Instant mood-killer. They reached the final landing and Asahi toed the door to his room aside, ducking his head on the way in. The ceiling was too low for him, just in the beginning. “It’s not clean, but you can see the floor now.”

Nishinoya beelined for bed, fell down, and stretched. He couldn’t take up the whole thing if he tried, but the effort was admirable. Asahi performed all the steps of his nightly routine, half-forgotten and backwards, telling himself to look away and then remembering he didn’t really have to. Volleyball was one thing -- how had he skipped out on dating _Noy_ a for a _month?_ No wonder he felt so sleepless and depressed. He’d wasted all that time searching for something he couldn’t find, because he already knew where it was, and didn’t have the stones to put himself out like that. Most people had fight _and_ flight reflexes, but Nishinoya grasped only the former, and Asahi had a real knack for the latter. 

“What are you doing over there?”

“I don’t even know.”

“Okay-y,” the libero turned one eye on him. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I, don’t know yet.”

He didn’t say anything else, and Asahi drifted over. Did Noya want to hang out? It sounded like it, but he wasn’t pushing. Did _he_ want to hang out with Noya? Hell yes. But first he needed to chuck his brother in his room with the dab rig and stick his door shut with contact cement. Asahi was about to excuse himself and do exactly that when he thought of another option. 

“We could take the bike out,” he said, step by uncertain step. “I know an easy hike up Xi Shan -- the crowds die off at the top. Last time I found a creepy shack up there selling curry and ice cream. Wanna go?”

“Sounds like tempting fate,” said Noya, appreciative. “I’m game.” He rolled to the window side, and Asahi finally settled down, laying on his face and going prone for a minute while all his crying muscle pains adjusted to the new arrangement. 

“It’s supposed to be good luck to touch the knob on the dragon gate,” he murmured.

“Ooh, I want to touch the knob.” 

“If you can reach it.”

“You'll have to give me a boost, then.”

Noya pulled the elastic from his hair, and quick fingers worked out some loose tangles. Then Asahi felt the pressure of a closed fist on his back; four knuckles ran hot and heavy between his shoulder blades. He moaned short and pitiful. Touch felt good. 

“Last time I gave you a boost I got a faceful of junk.”

“Huh? When was that?”

“I guess you were too focused on crawling into the ceiling.”

“Oh, right -- I remember now,” Noya chuckled. “You were so cute. Big giant nervous guy, Tanaka couldn’t figure you out. And then Sugawara showed up -- man, I need to get that picture off him!”

“ _Ugh.”_ Asahi reached for his phone, blindly. “I look so dumb. I thought my life was over, like Daichi was about to come around the corner and rip the soul out of me. The best part of the picture is just your ass hanging out of the ceiling.”

“Well, thanks.” Noya, prideful. “Wait, do you actually have it?”

The shelves over the headboard were cluttered with old homework, half-finished water glasses, and forty books he never finished reading. Asahi had a habit of running away from endings. 

He found the picture in his older messages. Suga sent it to him almost immediately after the incident, with an attached note: _‘This is a good look for you, ace.’_

“He used the wink emoji.” Noya hummed over his shoulder. “Why would he use the wink?”

Asahi hid his face. Muffled, “I dunno.”

“There’s nothing to wink about, unless he knew something.”

“I never thought about it.” What would Suga know? “Maybe he noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“Me,” he sighed. “Noticing you.”

Noya stilled. Curiously, “Oh, yeah? Like when?”

“Um, immediately? You’re, uh, tough to ignore.” Asahi shrugged. “I knew I’d never know you that well, too, because of the type of person I am, and I hated it. And -- I pine. I’m a pretty good piner. Suga knows that.”

“Man, _what?”_ Noya, actually flustered. “What do you mean, you _knew_ it? How do you know something if ya never try? I didn’t even... you barely said hi for months! I was starting to think you couldn’t see me from way up there.”

“Very funny.”

Noya leaned back on his elbows. “I’m not _jo_ king.”

“Um, sorry. It’s just -- ”

“And don’t apologize!”

Asahi snaked an arm out and brushed his fingers over his teammate’s nearest wrist, just to see if he was mad -- Nishinoya forced a loud exhale through his nose, but didn’t shift away. 

“I’m not good at, saying how I feel.”

“But you did, earlier! At the door, I mean. What’s the difference?”

“Okay, but admitting I’m a loser is the easy part.” Asahi slid his thumb over his pulse, but couldn’t tell if he was feeling the thunder of Noya’s or his own. “Coming out about crushing on my male underclassman for a year, not so much.” 

Another sigh. “I just don’t understand how Suga saw it before me. It didn’t even seem like you wanted to be friends. I had to eat all those serves after hours in the gym just to make you look at me.”

“No, believe me,” Asahi chuckled. “I was already looking. And Sugawara has this, kind of, holy-fuck thousand-year insight -- you can’t even be secretly allergic to celery, around him, let alone gay and pining. The more I dodged you the more he noticed. Even _Dai_ chi said something to me the other day about the team being _open_ -minded, so it must’ve been pretty obvious.”

“Not to me,” Noya grumbled. “Man, _I’m_ the idiot!”

“Nah. Different people catch and react in different ways, at different speeds, that’s all. Like volleyball. Besides, you had Tanaka; two weeks after the term started you guys were friggin’ bulletproof, and I was jealous -- I could never make friends that fast, that hard. And both of you, diving after Kiyoko all the time, it was more than enough to kill my stupid pipe-dream.”

“Dude, I _told_ you. If it were publicly acceptable for me to dive after you, I would. I thought I was pretty obvious about playing both sides of the field, but I also felt like anything more direct would freak you out.”

“You’re right, it would have,” Asahi bit down on a grin. If Noya ever made a boisterous pass at him like Kiyoko, he’d probably faint on the spot. “It worked out, though. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Noya brightened. “I think I’m going to miss chasing you.”

Asahi tried something new and touched his side, without flinching away, this time. He pushed his palm across his belly, over his shirt. Thin white cotton, soft and warm. Touch felt good, he reasoned. He folded his hand in a rock-climber’s hook over Nishinoya’s opposite hip, and dragged him closer. “It’s your turn to run.”

“Asahi,” the libero giggled, accusing. “That was kinda hot.”

The ace shifted to lean over one forearm, and Noya wriggled part-way underneath him, eyes shining, dark and mischievous. He tied his arms languid over Asahi’s shoulders, combed his hair back, and tipped his head. Asahi took his teammate’s lower lip gently in his teeth and nipped a path across it. Noya pressed back fiercely, off-center, and they slipped and slutted together, but he seemed determined not to correct the angle. Asahi reasoned that, if he got to make out with Nishinoya even once, then his life was already better off than it was before, and he wasn’t so nervous about what to do next. 

He needed air, but he was sure he could outlast Noya, and didn’t pull away until he was about to go light-headed, only to slide one leg between the libero’s and throw a little weight on it -- it worked. Noya moaned, a raspy, gasping little thing that lit Asahi head to toe with desire. He teethed along his jaw, down his neck, and worked his hand slow and heavy up his side, taking in every warm dip and swell of his small frame. He rocked forward again. The libero convulsed, and panting, said his name.

“Hm?” Asahi hummed, teased the corner of his mouth with his tongue, and bit again at his lip, not as softly. Noya was too busy catching his breath to even kiss back. Asahi watched his chest heave, and flipped up his shirt, just the lower half. There weren’t so many bruises on his torso. He docked his hand on the transition point between his hip and upper leg, and curled his fingers around as far as they would go.

“If we keep going,” Noya, straining. “I’m gonna get hard.”

Asahi teethed back along his jaw, then sucked on his ear lobe. He pulled away to tuck his hair back again. Kind of annoying but his band was on Noya’s wrist. “Want me to stop?”

“Really, _real_ ly stupid question.” Nishinoya licked his lips, breathing heavy but hiding it pretty well. “It was just a warning, ace. Do whatever you want with it.”

What _ever_ he wanted? Asahi sat up on his knees. “Now is probably an awkward time to tell you I don’t have a ton of experience. And... fantasies might be a bad place to start.”

Noya appeared to consider this. Then he tucked both hands behind his neck. His lower back curled off the bed, and his shirt slid incrementally further upward. It was choking. “How do you know, if you never try?”

That catch-phrase, again. But, fair enough. 

“One step at a time,” he added. “Right?”

Asahi thought about it. Then: “Take off your shirt?”

Noya barked a laugh. It hit the floor in seconds. There was a little constellation of moles across his chest. _Yum._ Before Asahi could move to explore, his teammate shot up quickly again, took him around the neck and hissed in his ear. “ _I_ want to be on top.” 

“I know,” he chuckled. “I’m surprised you let this go on so long.”

“I thought it would help you get moving.”

He was totally right. Asahi felt his face heat, but shifted to fall to his back anyway. Noya shoved his shirt over his head in seconds, and the ace shrugged it off, adding it to the floor. His heart felt overly exposed and vulnerable, like a zit on his chest. But instead of breaking Asahi’s ribs and ripping it out of him, Nishinoya centered himself and slowly layed down, heaving a long, satisfied breath over his shoulder. 

Asahi felt hot everywhere. Eventually he lifted his hands and they skated easily down his teammate’s back, all the way to the band of his black team sweats, and finally, over the sweet knoll of his ass. Pretty much what he’d been wanting to do since they met. Asahi felt Noya’s heart rabbiting against his skin, and even burning up his nipples felt hard as fucking bullets between them. 

“Wanna talk about it?” The libero’s narrow-eyed amusement. Even the tiniest shift of his hips took all of Asahi’s attention.

Dumbly, “‘Bout what?”

“Grabbing my ass,” he reminded him.

“Oh. What’s there to talk about?” He mumbled. “It’s fantastic.”

Noya hid a laugh in his neck. Then he opened his mouth against it, and spent quite a long time there, right under his jaw. After a while Asahi went sort of sleepy with closeness and content, and forgot about the semi hard-on between them. He hooked his thumbs under Noya’s waistband, and closed his eyes. The month was catching up to him, the day was catching up, and then all at once the night slammed into him like a sweep to the legs. Asahi sank beneath the surface. Out cold. 

At the earliest rumblings of dawn, he woke, apprehension like a bell going off in his brain -- and too much weight on his bladder. Noya snored softly in his ear. It was a new thing, waking up half-naked and tangled together. Asahi debated not moving him and just holding it until sunrise. While he thought about the pros and cons, his hands explored the topography, slower, more deliberate -- from the downward slump of his lower back to the shallow, plated arcs of each shoulder blade. Asahi thumbed at his armpit hair, and pressed his mouth to the nearest thing: the soft upward camber of one shoulder. His skin bore such tempting resemblance to tofu, Asahi tested it under his teeth. 

Eventually, Nishinoya stirred. He gave a slight snuffle of interest, closed his lips under his jaw again, then shifted himself down, down, until he was nosing at Asahi’s collarbone. More importantly, his semi had returned from hours before, and the hard line of it came to rest squarely over Asahi’s pelvis. Like a secret conversation, his dick twitched. Noya canted his hips slightly forward, once, then again, and he gave a hoarse moan. Being at once drowsy and horny proved to be a dangerous combination in the ace; when he decided he wanted more friction, he lowered both hands to his teammate’s ass and grinded firmly upward. Noya hissed and rocked reflexively back for more. 

“Nishi,” Asahi remembered suddenly. “I woke you up because I have to pee. I’m sorry,” he shifted the libero up and off of him in one go. “If I get a boner now I’ll never be able to shake it.”

“ _Ugh,”_ a long-suffering groan. “But you _star_ ted it.”

“I know. Please wait for me.”

Nishinoya rolled to his back and made sleepy direct eye contact while sliding one hand under his waistband. “Better hurry,” he drawled.

Asahi got a fleeting glimpse of the bed of dark hair between his hips. _Holy shit._ He peeled himself away, tried not to wipe out and die on the stairs. If he managed to clear the image from his mind of Noya jerking off in his bed long enough to actually piss, it would be a miracle. 

It took a splash of cold water in the face and about five or six solid minutes of clean, mundane thinking: stinky cleats, grass stains, Natori river in flood season. Things were looking pretty good and his thoughts were just about to shift back upstairs when he left the bathroom and ran headlong into the head of the household. 

“Mom!” Every sexy image he’d ever conjured during his short foray into adulthood flew neatly from his brain, and by the time the toilet stopped flushing, the ace of Karasuno felt about as fertile as a rock garden. 

“Did you wash your hands?”

“Yes!” On the chopping block, already.

“You ran the stove last night.”

“It got cold.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“It, uh, warmed up.” Asahi tugged nervously on his sweats. But there was no hiding his state of undress. All thirteen of his chest hairs stood on end. “What’re you doing on the stairs?”

“I was coming up to ask you for your keys. I forgot to charge the bike last night, so I need yours to do the shopping today.”

“Right _now?_ The sun’s barely up -- ”

“Yes!” She waved her hand. She was getting impatient. “I have to get out to Sansan early or the restaurant people buy up all the good heads of cabbage, and only leave the stinky fish!”

“Mom,” he tried, softly. “You just got back from work, why don’t you get some sleep? Make a list, and me and Noya will do the shopping -- ”

“Noya? You don’t mean that libero who got suspended last month?”

“Err.” _Shit!_ Why did he say that? “Yeah, but -- ”

“Is he here?”

Asahi dropped his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.”

His mother looked him up and down. Then: “You know my rule. I’m very lenient with you boys. Too lenient! But you don’t have a father to make you into men, so it’s up to me. I’ll say it again: no females under my roof!”

“ _Mom!”_

“Now you had to find a loophole in the rule, so let me make it more clear: no coitus under my roof! No coitus in the wood shed! No coitus on my property!”

Asahi covered his eyes with one hand. “Make it stop.”

“Promise me -- ”

“I promise! I promise!”

She scrutinized him again, agonizingly slow. Finally. “Okay. We’re going to have a talk about safety, later. And then you will properly introduce me.”

“Um,” Asahi shifted his feet. “How did you…”

“On your neck.”

He slapped a hand to his neck. Crap, Noya!

She rolled her eyes. “The other side, you fool.”

Asahi dropped his hand and sulked. What was the point of trying to hide something from his mother? He’d never managed it once, growing up. 

“He’s very talented, that libero.”

He nodded, eyes down. 

“You’re a good boy, Asahi. I’m glad someone finally notices.”

“Thanks, mom.” So embarrassing. “Please get some rest. Don’t worry about the shopping; we’ll be up in a couple hours -- ”

“You’ll be up in one hour. Don’t dawdle.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Asahi started to bound up the stairs.

She called after him, “And comb your hair, if you’re going to keep it that long!”

###### 

Noya was already sitting up when he heard Asahi slip inside, and close the door firmly behind him. His expression was desolate. 

“Aw,” Noya tried not to laugh. “What happened?”

“My mother.” The ace slunk back to bed, turned into the blankets and buried his face against Nishinoya’s hip. “It was awful.”

“All I heard was _‘no coitus,’”_ he chuckled. “Over and over.” Noya pet the baby hairs above his ear. Asahi stilled, and went limp. 

Faintly: “You put your shirt on…”

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want to touch dicks after that.”

Asahi groaned, forlorn. 

“It’s okay! Really, man,” said Noya. “I mean, yeah, you totally fell asleep on me last night -- ”

“So did you!”

“And then you woke me up just to run away a _gain_ \-- ”

In a smaller voice: “Didn’t mean to.”

“But it’s fine. I’m not in a rush. Honestly I thought it would take a lot more than two sleepovers and one cooked meal to get in your pants. Plus, I texted Tanaka and he said that last month can go uncounted and I’ll still get my yakisoba bun. So don’t worry.”

A small snort. Asahi settled a heavy arm across his legs. “I knew that’s all you wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a soft ending!! Might pick it back up soon, I have some ideas. 
> 
> A couple of laughs, i hope.
> 
> <3


End file.
